For Naught

I am fertile,
Dig deep your plow,
Into my flesh.
Gee and haw your mules,
Put your weight upon the draw.
Dig deep into my soul.
The ache is not yours,
It is mine to bear,
The steel of your plow tip,
A furrow set.
Stumble in the dank earthen row,
Our tread only hastens,
The growth of Spring.
Spring is my salvation,
You cannot stop that,
For Spring’s salvation is forever.
The soil knows,
You and I will die,
But the earth will give,
That which you have been-
Barren and less –
The sower of life,
Will in the end,
Consume you and I,
Thus we are for naught.