A Worn Shovel
Of old and new
Against modern colors
I’ll take the taint of black
Edges so dull
Rusted blades
Carvings in solid stone
Breath of sunlight
In sightless shades
I’ll take mine pure and deep
Choking weeds
Unturned ground
Growing slowly tangled
Of showers and storms
Drowning with benevolence
I’ll take the purest fall
Soaking earth
Swelling seeds
A purpose to be enjoyed
Copyright September 2006
Gary Pilarchik
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