Oil on Canvas Panel


Soil turned over countless times

through folded centuries of ancient seasons;

bright-splayed dawns and days

and winter night, and rain-moist earth,

coaxed on to bear the breath of Spring—

the nurtured soil now begging for the seed,

the soil, now urging upward growth

in continents of leaves in bright trees

forested along the borders of the fields,

they fan out with their slender arms

toward open sky, where life floods down

in sunny streams, now seeping through

the breeze-blown leaves—

now carpeting the rich, brown, folded

floors of roots and leaves and foliage,

and the bright hopes spilled

with seeds broadcast across the fields,

the dance eternal, made for blueprints

formed within the mind and weathered

by the centuries that pass,

and passed along to fill the needs of beating hearts.

—Dennis Smith