The Soil
You are beneath my feet oppressed
forgot,
Ugly and dark your face when first
laid bare,
No symmetry, no fair relief your lot.
Across the sea they call you “dirt”.
That’s fair.
For in your deep untrodden paths and
niches
Crawl, ghastly, loathsome, beasts small and obscene.
Your are the midden of a thousand
species,
The grave yard for the countless hosts unseen
Then came the spring and from your breast arose
A multitude of promises of food
Of beauty in each bursting seed that
grows.
The soil, I find it is no longer rude.
Without the soil I learn we could not
feed
We least esteem the source of all we
need.
Peter M.
Grinham 25th February 2015
The Sky
The mistress of a thousand cryptic faces,
I raise my grateful longing eyes to you.
Your depths contain a multitude of graces
Which daily give an ever changing view.
Sometimes grey clouds give battle bold on high
On other days a gloom obscures the blue
That still remains above the clouded sky
Each day reveals some truth that’s ever new.
But when the sun is low and in its fall
The back cloth sky turns blue to green to red
And black barred cloud brings loveliness to all,
I thank my God for what the sky has said
For in the torment of tumultuous days
Sad pain to fairer beauty points my gaze.
Peter
M.Grinham 20th February 2015