The Teachings of Mud
The Teachings of Mud
By Moya Cavanagh
Browns River Middle School, Grade 8
Mud is the soul of us,
The welcomed holy sign of spring
Here,
We have no reservations about it,
Or lie to our selves
About what it has stemmed from.
It is plain to see here;
For the children come,
Clad in their boots
They learn the mud well,
Watch their backs,
For they’ve lost many a shoe,
While having forgotten adventures
Which parents cannot hope to remember
As they clean the mud from
Their children’s suffering khakis,
And call neighbors to pull their cars
From the tangle of mud seeking to teach
A lesson in patience to those who cannot see
It is something you must learn to live with.
And grow to love.
It whispers us promises of sun,
It sings of spring this beautiful mud,
It burbles and hums as it eases away
The ice from below.
It smells of sweet renewal
And deathly decay,
The birth of spring is on it’s way.
The crocuses are to arrive today,
And the wind will blow fit to knock
Us down,
And clouds will gush rain which will,
Surely,
Turn into ice,
Cross my heart and hope
To die,
But not to worry,
The mud is coming.
Sluggishly it oozes
Turning solid ground soft with
Warmth.
Waltzing with the ice
Until they reach the banks
Of the giggling stream
So it to,
May savor the taste of spring,
Before sending it away to summer,
In the blink
Of an eye.
