I would bury them,
my sorrows,
deep into the loam –
into the comfort
of earth, and dark,
and waiting
I would bury them,
these burdens,
beneath the roots
of the locust that
stood as witness
to their birth
I would bury them,
my troubles,
close by where I’ll see
come the spring
these troubles become
more beautiful things
© Sarah Whiteley
