the smell of grass and fresh-turned loam,
the scent of smoke upon the air;
a world so wide, and yet so home
as makes you think you’d lost the care

that weighs you down at weary night.
it is the earth that understands –
the sky that knows which path is right –
the wind that bears new hope perchance —

so open your arms wide, and feel
the universal love genome —
the pattern of what’s meant to be,
the smell of grass and fresh-turned loam