She's refuge, embodiment of home, With mighty oaks, eternal, grand – Verdant slopes of life, where sustenance roams. Her scent is wood-bound, soaked by rain's hands, Her earth, riches beneath, felt deep within – A presence in soul-depths, roots entwined, grown. Oppressive, her breath, like the ocean's kin – Humid weight pressing down upon all. Danger lurks in her wild, untamed skin. She is scorned, battered, hears mockery's call, Yet stands—her truth, pure and unclaimed, Sweet haven, the aim, she mirrors my soul. In death, countless, she's withered, inflamed, Yet, like dawn, she promises to ascend – Rising, ever, undaunted, unashamed.
Amazing poem, Shelby. Southern Germany is yeehaw too, and I visited the country-side village I grew up in just yesterday. Your verses call me home again.