Our bodies covered with the fragrant soil
Of Kansas plains. We slept,
And within us, life stirred,
Impatient to be born.
In due time, we burst from our shrouds,
Thrusting our heads through disappearing snow
Which sheltered us from bitter cold
And from wind which would have ripped us from the womb.
The sun warmed us; Earth nourished us;
And for a season we grew tall,
Bending our golden heads to gentle rains and summer winds
Gaining strength that we might meet our destiny.
Then, it was time.
They took us from our birthplace.
They set us free to fulfill our purpose,
To begin our journey into a world where men
Have treasured us, long before recorded time.
We were dispersed to the corners of the world,
Welcomed by peasants and kings; then crushed,
Never again to exist in previous form.
We were joined with water, proved by fire,
Then broken and consumed. The dust of our bodies
Became men's flesh. We received life from Earth;
Our deaths returned life as a gift to man.
But, some of us were saved, and in the fullness of time
Will repeat the cycle of death and birth;
Will be buried, then spring to life again.
The soils of nations far from our beginnings
Will be the tombs from which we rise.
Patricia Phillips, 1992
For the background of this poem, and how it came to be written, I invite you to read yesterday's post.
Photo taken from Kansas Wheat * Kansas Wheat Commission