Though not a beauty, it’s also a truth. It doesn’t lose its serenity in the material dream. Stretching and contracting… It moves in the borderless world as the purest pleasure pulsating in the soul. The earth’s vibrancy reflects in its move. To live in soil is a natural bliss. I don’t think it discerns it’s in the source of life and death. Its service always remains unrecognized, yet it never grieves. When it writhes on a hook, its pain pains no one. First published in The Literary Hatchet.