Low I feel,
Lower than the earth I tread,
A Nothingness of despair,
Yearning for oblivion,
Of the pain I wish would go away,
Never to return.

Low I feel,
Now I must rise,
Rise to the level of the earth,
Which is tread and trampled upon,
And yet lovingly gives forth fruits,
And all its colorful beauty,
Out of the earth’s blandness,
Out of it’s world of insect life.

How strange it is,
The insect world ,
Perceived by most,
As an abomination,
to most who encounter it,
yet creatures created by God,
who is pure Goodness.

The turns, movement, whirred, buzzing of this concealed aid,
Instincts within a tiny brain,
Helps bring forth the richness of the soil,
Richness not perceived by body contact,
Soiling worn clothing,
Yet our bodies thrive on the products,
Of that very soil,
And often our cloths originate,
From that dark place too.

Low I feel,
But too low,
Need soul to soar,
To the earth itself,
With humility,
Gratefulness,
Low level beneath the foot,
Feeling the richness of those depth,
Truly one and the same,
Not separate from one another,
The low,
The richness

Does the Rose know,
Why or how it arose,
To be that dazzling beauty,
Of radiance within,
Shining outward,
The glow of attractive influence,
Does it know it’s origin,
That dirty, trampled upon, insect ridden ,lowly earth,
Knew all along,
God created,
To bring out it’s rose,
To it’s fullest potential,
Love,
Intense Love,
Full potential from the low,
Only from there,
Can that Rose rise

So low I feel,
As the earth I tread upon,
And for that,
I am grateful,
Able to feel joy,

So low I feel,
Yet I am content.