Root

To be a root and hold fast to the ugliness of the earth
to exclude myself from the beauty of the land and suckle at the teet of harsh ground
to consume not but the bitterness of decay and rot and to drink the rain of heavens defiled by the dirt
Yet still to grow--this was the charge of the breeze as it whispered through the reeds
to create from the vile hatred of trampled lands a stem or a stalk
to protrude from the captivity of darkness and claim a place in the sun
to smile in the light, laugh in the wind and to cry in the rain
but to never lose my grasp upon the earth which feeds me
to bear my fruit to the hungry or show my blossoms to the dejected
let them forget at heart I'm a root for my soul resides in the bosom of the earth
I shall consume bitterness and create bliss
This was the charge of the breeze as it whispered through the reeds