Self-Love Nurtures the Poetry in Your Life

Or Is It a Magic Spell to Grow Parsnips

“When the rose beautifies itself, it also beautifies the garden.” — Friedrich Ruckert.

Poetry was the first way of using language. Perhaps, hypothetically, it was the only way of using language, belonging to rituals of dawn-breaking agricultural societies, arising in magic spells recited to ensure a bountiful crop.

In fertile acres, near field and brush, Our incantations bring harvests lush.

Whatever the certainty of this postulate, it blurs a valuable distinction. By the time there begins to be objects called poems, recognizable as such, they are no longer much regarded for their possible parsnip-producing bounties.

Embraced by earth, parsnips thrive unseen, Our chanted spells yield roots serene.

Therefore, such magic as they may be capable of has been pensioned off to do business with the human mystique and not directly upon nature’s fresh world.

On our mystique the passion trends No longer serving nature’ ends.

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