Harry Carr
Not sure if its depression or megalomania,
That our aloneness comes off as real.
We feel we must do everything,
Solve all the worlds problems, and our own.
Relax; there is life in a bucket of soil.
All sorts of tiny organisms,
Waiting to participate.
Join force, take up the good fight, and build humus.
Above an acre of land are 70 million pounds of nitrogen.
Just waiting to be fixed with leguminous plants.
In an acre of soil there are 80,000 pounds of carbon,
Just waiting to house nitrogen.
Father Sky descends down with nitrogen,
Mother Earth waits below with carbon,
Anions and cations rejoice,
Laughing, playing, dancing round.
Mycelium spreads its network,
Across the soil surface.
Communicating and transferring,
Food to the needy.
