Scythe's Nursery

Saccharine Scythe, thank you for pruning me;

savagely setting the snakes out to sun,

shaking the fragrant shadows out to run,

sifting out those weeds that were grooming me;

salvaged, now, the sight of the setting sun,

a sight the stagnant had since overrun.

-

A murder no longer circling me;

all things buried properly, where they should

be, nothing here taking shelter that should

not be, no scavengers above, swarming;

where the overbearing overgrowth would

be, nothing here taking shelter that could

stop me; no barriers now, to growing.

-

The river that slithers through the slanting,

scouring and scarring barren, clay burnt hills;

the wind that barrels through with shrieking shrill,

humming locusts foreboding, and chanting,

the winter that returns for chilling thrill;

none of this here, strange; none of this here will

stop me from thriving in Scythe's nursery.