O to be a clod within your grasp!
You earthy damsel, you!
It is a masterpiece; a landscape besoiled!
A trumpet sounds, and fruit-bearing flowers erupt from the dirt and toss their petally faces toward the mourning!
The sun, in grief, cries and rain moistens the fecal soil.
The flowers protest that they aren't fruit-bearing; but, ya, that daisy is pulling a mango; that tulip a pineapple.
Our bodies are washed in the drizzle. Strawberries conspire to shampoo our hair. Armadillos clip our toenails. Cows slice up patches of their hide to make us jackets. Pine trees, thinking we are dutch, sacrifice their lives to become our shoes.
Nature, in all its splendor, greets us, and says we belong.
Arm in arm with nature, we go to The Mall with our credit cards and buy hats to keep from getting skin cancers.