What is this? Oh Paradise,
eternal bliss, you’re dead to us now.
We’ve lost the splendor
but here on weedy ground
we’ll see a different beauty.

Free to choose, but choosing wrong
cost us perfection. Now dry earth
requires toil. Working long
and hard, the soil, replete
with rock and hardened clay

demands my time, while she,
my blessing and my curse
lies in pain; her agony
a punishment that finally
results in gain.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *