In smaller shells we used to lay
our heads upon the snail,
and in larger skies
our legs were wrapped
around the sea gulls feet.
A silence crept over our lips,
a silvery sun took place up above.
And we were stuck below it
in sticky egg shells dirt and rust
and flowers bloom then wither
Oh the pedals and water rats
they've never had to breath in dust
and exhale the winter
or sit on rocks while it pours
and wait for something better
It never needs to drive away
to the lonesome countryside.
And it never needs to die away,
and leave us so unholy
and so unruly
And so the dogwoods give
and the beaver takes
and the sparrow nests it's wing.
And the ocean spits
into the womb of a grey valley
In solemn words of history
the spirit grapples.
And the worms underground
they fester and feed
on the souls of the seed.
In smaller shells we used to lay
our heads upon the snail,
and in larger skies
our legs were wrapped
around the sea gulls feet.
- Written by Madeline Ann Ash
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