Unto Dust Returneth

We who have seen green sprouts pushing
Upward, defying the snow,
We who have witnessed fruition,
We of the soil wisely know
Little of fear and misgiving,
Little reluctance to go
Back to the soil’s warm bosom,
Back to the womb of the earth.
Loving its fragrance since birth,
Early we learned
That which is given to earth’s care
Finds nourishment there
And blossoms and grows.
So surely, if this miracle, which those
Fine elements of soil and rain and sun perform
With tiny mute brown seeds,
Holds true, we, too,
Will bloom again, gloriously,
As does the lowliest flower or tree,
When we have mingled with the earth
As intimately!

FARM JOURNAL & FARMER’S WIFE