My fingers burrow deep in the cool rich earth

My fingers burrow deep in the cool, rich earth,

a fistful of dirt, where I’m measuring worth.

Flecks of twigs and stones, secrets buried in time,

a reminder of childhood, when play was sublime.

With each handful I gather, I feel roots start to cling,

a tether to moments where joy used to sing.

I dig past the surface, the chaos of days,

searching for solace in life's tangled maze.

The soil’s dark embrace, it carries my past,

as I pack it around where the new life will last.

And here in this garden, I find something true—

the healing in labor, the earth's gentle cue.