What tales the earth
could tell if lips
she had to whisper
of lovers paused
to watch a sunset
glow or a woman
at a well long
grown over with
mildewed moss
and green upon
the grass where children
ran and played to
chase a squirrel
up a tree that
dropped an acorn
grown to giant
height where a
man was hung
for the colour
of his skin.
Oh earth could weep
if eyes she had,
with blood
they'd run through
Eden's idyllic
streams -
where serpent's
tongue held moment's
sway and bitter-joyous
choice was wrung
in favour for our gain.
© Eleanor Clark
30 December 2013
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