City workers placing gaurd rails to protect their sons and daughters,
Sidewalks so they may walk and breath.  I walk with words to care for the
Breath of life to read, with sons and daughers of which I am no kin by
Touch of pregnancy, but through the breath of centuries-

Organic compounds spread and lifted from the soils of which we eat,
The rythym in the breath of living; with no judgement creates the progeny,
The light in thought of ease, the lack of fight and companionship
With our mothered nature.  

Not alone am I when I am fulminating growth, thunderous claps into the sky
Cultivating from my throat, the echoes returning by the clouds,
Rainfall soaking into grass, standing in the ruffled strokes of
A deepish pondered past, until the day I fertilize our soil
And seep into our streams, living in time amongst the circles
Of the rythyms and the clocks; this moment I am living
Cannot be mothered by increments, resting in an instant of peace-
Harmony my kin will be, in the words of gaurd rails and sidewalks
For us to make the peaceful taps of each wandered step.