This Soil

This soil,
brown beneath my feet
is rich beyond the nutrients it holds.
It speaks
in voices in my mind
of men that worked this land

This soil
has seen the crops of men
and felt the years pile up
it knows
the fickle ways of seasons
late frosts and early snow

This soil
has felt the cut of plow and disk,
and the scraping of a hoe,
the warm sun,
the roots of beans and corn,
and potatoes swelling in the ground.

This soil
brown beneath my feet
is rich and it enriches me
This Soil
is mine and yet not mine alone
I use it with care and must pass it on.

(c) James L. Frady, May 2020