The gardener thrusts his shovel
into the Earth’s dying body,
pouring the seeds of life
into her wrinkled womb.
They blossom,
ripping through
her muddy flesh
to get to her stone bones,
reaching her skin of dirt
pushing,
pressing,
piercing,
until they have torn through
her pores of sand,
they begin to reach out
their arm-like leaves towards the sky,
towards blue freedom.
Their green heads peak out
and see what has happened
to their mother, to the Earth.
How man has plagued her
with radiation and toxic pollution.
The newborns then scream out oxygen
in horror.
It’s a shame we don’t hear them more often
when we breathe in their voices everyday.