Rebuked, am I, and chastened yet reply
with mild fervor, I am pressed
to live with outward eyes to smooth
the earth ‘pon which I labor

Spurned, am I, though sowed your soul,
your temper, the medium of your very nature,
but rest you must in favor to
that earth ‘pon which you labor

Rebuked, am I, for chasing that,
the seeded murmur, sprouting quick
yet planted shallow, that it would tend
the earth ‘pon which I labor

Spurned, am I, yet intended you this place
of peace and healing, dreamful sleep,
of quiet theater, a threshold from
that earth ‘pon which you labor

Rebuked, am I, for heeding urge
and leaving mother’s breast, to
purpose seek, to lift my kind’s endeavor
of the earth ‘pon which I labor

Spurned? Rebuked? Nay, I know better,
refuge here your comfort take, ‘mid
cooling spring and leafy glade, on hill
of green ‘neath milky night, return, take rest
of blessed earth ‘pon which you labor

Moxie Falls, The Forks, Maine
12 September 2026
Photo by the author