In the morning dark,
bare feet draw
from the grass
an unexpected gift,
earth's soft nourishment.
All day long, they are busy
back and forth. All day long,
They trespass over
And when we end
beneath the sun's long haul,
right or wrong, we are judged
by the dust we bear on our feet
and by the promises we keep
and those we fail to keep.
In all things being.
And hardly a match for judgement without quarter.
Great as always, K
judgement, the weight of life... such is the way, unfortunately.ReplyDelete
love your buried treasure poem, below. hope all is well.
So well n beautifully said- judged by the dust we bear!ReplyDelete
To be literal, I've been wearing a pedometer for work & I'm fascinated by the steps I take & the ones I don't take. Sundays at home I'm almost immobile - and it feels wrong to have not taken more than 4,000 steps. Very little dust on my feet on those days.ReplyDelete
In the end, I think I would like to be known for more than my excellent sloth. I've been judging myself lately & need to make some changes...
Lovely opening image of dew.ReplyDelete
But let us wash one another's feet.