Mud
Each step I take,
As I trudge forward
Through the muddy landscape,
Collects my feet:
Pulling me deep toward the Earth,
Rooting me where I stand.
I struggle to free my legs.
They sink where I walk
Until I bury myself.
Time passes and the ground grows firm
While I'm underneath
The dusting fossils,
The stone-etched imprints
That suggest which direction I was going,
And where I had been.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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