Spade

i've lost my spade. no longer needed,
left behind in poppyfields of snow,
snow pathogenic black 
and canine yellow with days of 
comfort and confusion.

leveraged sellouts to amiability
and loyalty to iron roads laid straight
have my time to dig deprived
have my cautious quill quite quelled
have my spade surrendered to the rust.

a shame that the soil
is rendered moist and fertile by 
ample winter rains that 
have from perspiring trying
labor saved me.

an irreverent contradiction perhaps
i should count my sudden blessings
but shattering sweeter yams are to
be gleaned when digging, carving 
through the rocky sand and dirt to fill
an always hungry belly

i've lost my spade, my
wistful weary witty muse,
and harvested too easily, running
fast about with open screaming mouth
and hurling vapid cries, quite
lost and pressed for verse.