Asphodel

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Dry grass is shifting
in chill autumn wind

soft hills once green
are brown once again

I yearn for the rain,
winter’s blessing to fall

and spread wide white fields
of asphodel.

Gray stones mark my
resting place

deep in the earth
where I lie by dark lakes,

but in winter I crave
the fruit of the pall

Oh, spread wide bright fields
of asphodel.

***

 Author’s Note: Asphodel, in Ancient Greek mythology, is a favored food of the dead and is often planted at grave-sites.

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