Mining

This vein’s still rich
After a quarter century:
First the painful strip mining
Then, with ugliness exposed,
Digging more deeply under
What was left in the sun,
Each finding the other’s
Full veins of true gold.

We hauled it to the surface
In carts, in barrels and buckets,
In our own four hands,
Until, the years flowing on,
What was broken became topsoil
In which new seeds germinated,
Fresh growth sheltering us
As we ornament one another.

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About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
This entry was posted in Free verse, joy, love, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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