Prairie winds blow on blue flowers, ingesting life stories,
truth comes in waves, you believe yourself and the wind gossips,
further alone comes the fiddle head, staging life multi-colored.
Tree speaks to underground chambers, it feeds babes,
turn the century they turn to century in bonds, you and I,
brutality is gone, central station, we become welcomed,
we blossom together as sparrows fly over high ground.
Gently succumb to initiation,
curvature is subtle but exists,
admiration for earth’s quest.
Sweet it be, that nature nurtures so much, so well,
as if binding a spell, rituals attract our being,
in the field of blue flowers, no shielding, no despite,
the complexity is how they grow together.
Anna Rozwadowska 2020