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Where The Wild Things Grow

Writer's picture: Kristen MF ClarkKristen MF Clark

Updated: Dec 15, 2024

Give me a shovel, a rake, or an auger,

Let me toil with the earth, feel its humble honor.

Ranches and farms, horses and hens,

Where life is simple, and joy never ends.


I thrive in the sun, my hands in the dirt,

Each seed I plant a promise, each sprout a rebirth.

Flowers and trees, buzzing bees and butterflies,

A symphony of nature beneath open skies.


Makeup and curls? Not my affair,

The wind’s touch is my favorite wear.

Rain kisses my cheeks; snow dusts my brow,

The wild calls my name—I answer it now.


Vacuum and dust? Sure, I can try,

But my heart is out where the hawks fly high.

Through wind and storm, through shine and shade,

I find my peace where the land is laid.


For this hardworking soul, the outdoors is bliss,

Each moment in nature, a tender kiss.

From planting to harvest, through seasons’ embrace,

I live my true life in nature’s grace.


💋Kristen



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