Oh the raw dirt slipping through my fingers.

Dirty and pure.

Whilst not floating in airy of the fair whilst digging,

Sifting through purity of the earth.

Grounded indeed,

Dirtier than before.

Tears falling from chin,

Watering once desolate ground.

Sitting amidst filth and rawness,

Awaiting its fruit to spring forth.

What may be may never come,

This moment remains real.

Soon flowering from mother a child is born,

More beauty or just another layer within the Canvas…Ani Po