I am such a mess.
The rain falls on my soil,
And for a while I am mud.

No hint of fertility.
No hint of growth.
No hint of flowers.

Mud is self-forgetful,
A confusion of gift,
A profusion of promise.

The day will seed to my substance,
Serendipity and surprise,
Plantings for the morrow.

I shall lie here,
Loving my mud,
Waiting for the Sun.

© 2016 Joann Nelander