Below the Pour

Stretching, ascending, in breadth of crack
Shoot extends in point to reach
The sun for nurture, the dew for quench
Till nylon cords like a gypsy wench
Dancing about in nomadic entreat
Slice clean the stalk, felled in one whack

The scythe now gone, expanse recrowned
No longer engaging unsought guest
Until Creation’s command returned
Tip green once again the sun to yearn
And sip sweet dew from Nature’s breast
Roots below the pour, life above the ground

Darrell Phillips

Please email me if you want to contact the author.