Saturday, July 16, 2016



Water washes over,
Field's unquenchable thirst,
Liquid mirt - dirt and mud,
Drunk on water.

Mud squishes,
Under weight,
Of each step placed,
Hard soil softens quickly.

Internal soil,
Wilting of thirst,
Rain from heaven,
Each drop stings.

Until holding slurry,
Of mirt,
Simple, silky flow,
Fertile, open, curious.

Out of mirt,
Life grows.

About the Author:  Brian Bucks lives on a small horse ranch in Western Nebraska and is a husband, father, electrical engineer, and poet.

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