Older Than the Dirt

Great-Grandmother put the kettle on

When the kettle whistled

Great- Grandma was gone

So, cross the opened ground

Holding everything you’ve earned

Still good gets done without you

Still lessons left unlearned

When you’re older than the dirt

And waiting for the flowers to return

Logic to the last intention

Logic in the way we kept

Holding on forever

Singing as the floor- was swept

With words for actions

And words forgot

And names for all the people

Ever sleeping in the sod

Amend the changes that you’ve earned

In passing time there will not be a word

When you’re older than the dirt

And waiting for the flowers to return

Great-Grandmother put the kettle on

When the kettle whistled

Great- Grandma was gone