when I was born, my feet were of clay and earth,
but my head was of serenity – anguish I knew not –
I was fresh, only permeable to love,
the shocks and startles would come, but later,
when the world ended, whimpering,
and the fields were frozen or of flame.
/ / /
This poem was written in response to Wordle 41 at The Sunday Whirl.