Tears, and Dirt and Roses [POETRY]

Every man returns to whence he came;
As he is prized of the Maker’s soul.
Every man who knows the land,
From God’s pottery to the unleavened whole.
Surrounded within,
At the end,
By tears, and dirt and roses.

Every part of landed man is carved by the mind of God.
The dew and dust and such mud it forms
Brings to those who love that soil.
The sinew, the might to stand all storms.
Surrounded within,
At the end,
By tears, and dirt and roses.

No man lies alone in the soil of whence he rose;
Often beside friends, oft-tendered dominion from God.
Homed by farmer, by tiller, by sun-faced soldier;
Whistled, petted, collared and wept, facing holy sod.
Surrounded within,
At the end,
By tears, and dirt and roses.
​
The countryside has such places wherefore there is rest,
So green with time as all the soil once turned by plow,
Under the knoll is a bit of wood, burlap, or steel.
A rest is peace, as any recall honors a holy vow,
Surrounded within,
​At the end,
By tears, and dirt and roses.

The richness of the land and ground, reveals the once-bled gray;
That signs are marked by glowing courage deep within blood dirt,
So clear and honorable are those who stand erect.
Even time spent over saved graves will ever salve the hurt.
Surrounded within,
At the end,
By tears, and dirt and roses.

Oh, home, that home, always reveals the march of life.
It runs and runs to the end, then lights the ground with flower.
And such as who will always pray, know no empty chest
That did not call back in time, finding the glory and power.
Surrounded within,
At the end,
By tears, and dirt and roses.

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*The title was taken from a line in a story, “Roscoe” written by Brandon Meeks, of Arkansas, that I saw on The Abbeville Institute site. I use the line in each stanza also.