Emerald mound,
Alone in the light;
Fronds poke through,
A frail warmth;
Gaelic progression,
Rubbed into its sight;
Bring your age,
Your knowledge;
To this parasitic,
Grumbling utopia;
Send an envoy,
To burst the deceit;
Silence the rambling,
Of the elite;
To simply know,
Doesn’t make you grow;
Remove all,
From which we are bound;
To escape the embrace,
Is a loss of clarity;
Lest we forget,
All must return to the ground;
(This poem was paired with this pen and ink artwork by Beth Webber.)
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