Metered Poetry

I know of a place 

in Montana, where 
things live and grow 
six feet underground

How profound: 
When some neighbors 
wouldn’t stay, because they 
couldn’t keep watering 
acres of Kentucky grass 
with precious water that 
wouldn’t last 
in such a state
They would rather 
feed the masses

Yes, they grow figs and 
berries and pears 
Where warmth is 
never lost
Even under piles 
of snow; Life keeps 
moving and new lives 
begin to grow—

A new kind of Eden, 
you might say

0 comments on “I know of a place 

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