For all you can do

While you hold the world in your hands,

hands yet soft unlike palms of the old,

small man of soil, sea and air,

clap like a fish flopping about.

For all you can,

work your field and don’t yield,

never yield.

For all you can,

don’t get lost upon the path,

which skirling path,

that of none other than that which of menta ricks,

with coal black eyes and dusted cheeks,

harden your hands,

breathe.

Respire the book’s sun kissed scent,

pusillanimously yellow will also be the piss.

For all you can,

jump high with the birds,

wings flopping like shovels digging,

beneath the worms are icky.

For all you can,

for however long you believe,

bestow upon yourself mother’s kiss..