Bearing,

Holding

The roots of overgrown trees

Tainted,

To the tender tips of those bitter wilting leaves,

Slowly suffocating in the 

Breeze 

Through this 

Hold your own

Not worshiped

But a homage

You are the throne

Life giver, you’re a cosmos 

An earth itself

Beautifully spewing with an honourable wealth

Sit down now, let it simmer. 

You’re the pheobus.

Femme.