Oh, dear rest.

How beautiful to touch your softness, so.

When I, the weary boned,

have assaulted this body

with your skeleton friend, exhaustion.

How sweet it is, this sigh of the deep.

How darling to fall to the earth

and know this motherly love

has filled my day to its gilded brim.

Photo by Daria Obymaha on Pexels.com
Day Seven. Golden are the crops of weary season.

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