Harvesting the skulls

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Harvesting the skulls

She crawls to the graveyard
where in Earth's womb
she had planted the skulls
by April's new moon
as sod turned green.

She'd protected them
through Death's drought and storms;
now she sits in her garden
snuggled amidst tombs
to harvest the fulsome fruits of her labor.

She gently plucks one from cold holy ground
caressing dead crannies now full of life.
'Sow and ye shall reap,' her granny had promised.

Now worms and grubs squirmed, fattened
and ready to eat. She would feast
by the moon's bright face and give thanks.

© Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.239] (7.oktober.2021)

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