The Pilgrimage: Part 38 / Phillip Neal Tippin
They mine for the rare earth
Stripping, boring dark despoiling holes
Yet a rare earth this morning rose
Lifting its eyes to mingle in the spring
Light, given again, unbidden, free.
Bare thee bold
Unto thy rest
He died for the sins of the whole world
That any one might be saved, as,
Families are stoned together.
These clear and shallow forms
Make it easier to find the floor,
But may also tend to raise
The self to the fore.