She lies in her bed,
well made of the soft earth,
She lies comfortable,
considering the properties of rain
and how needy the roots of the young sapling.
She no longer hungers
but she is nourished
as she counts
and, oh, how lovely the sun looks
each time it rises over the ridge,
raising the tiny living grasses
to wave over her .
easy in her bed.
***EMILY: “Does anyone ever realize life while they live it…every, every minute?”
STAGE MANAGER: “No. Saints and poets maybe…they do some.”― Thornton Wilder, Our Town