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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=345071" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Our Native Earth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=345071" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">We do not carry it in lockets on the breast,<br>And do not cry about it in poems,<br>It does not wake us from the bitter rest,<br>And does not seem to us like Eden promised.<br>In our hearts, we never try to treat<br>This as a subject for the bargain row,<br>While being ill, unhappy, spent on it,<br>We even fail to see it or to know.<br>Yes, this dirt on the feet suits us fairly,<br>Yes, this crunch on the teeth suits us just,<br>And we trample it nightly and daily --<br>This unmixed and non-structural dust.<br>But we lay into it and become it alone,<br>And therefore call this earth so freely -- my own.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Anna+Akhmatova">Anna Akhmatova</a></strong></div>

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