This tiny poem is a snapshot of a building site, caught in three short lines. The speaker looks at neat, square piles of soil, the kind left behind when ground has been dug up to make way for something new. The phrase "unearthed earth" is the heart of it. The repetition sounds almost like a stumble, and it makes you notice something odd: soil is normally just there, underfoot and unseen, and now it has been hauled out and put on display.
The speaker doesn't say how they feel, and that restraint is part of the effect. The mood is quiet and observant, maybe a little uneasy. The "four-square" shape suggests human order laid over something natural, as if the earth has been tidied up and made to behave. Judging by the wording, there may be a faint sense of loss or disturbance, but the poem leaves that to the reader. It simply shows the scene and lets you stand there looking at it.