Speaking Of Dirt

(Two every day adversaries, one putting the other down all the time, while the other just tries to get along)

You praising me in a strange old way,
In fields of ripe, red clover;
You marvel at the brand, new day,
While wrestling me over;

While clearly all you throw at me,
Is fear and affliction feeling;
The kiss you bring to my healing heart,
Is felt through lips unsealing;

This day of mine and yours in hay,
Is basic beauty at its best;
My heart is told in a new found way,
I have once again failed the test;

So speak, and lie, and move me down,
To less than the dirt we trod;
But when we face, and get our due,
It is I who will get the nod!