The corn is greener than the cash it brings;
The clouds are decoration, and they know it;
The trees a fringe that to the edges clings.
The vision knit together is a wonder:
A countryside unequalled anywhere.
Let nothing that may come rend it asunder;
Let it remain forever whole and fair.
Yet mankind, who has set forth field and tree,
Will also threaten what has been created;
The corn a battlefield may sometime be,
If violence uncaged be not abated,
And bodies may be buried in the soil
That once spoke to the beauty of our toil.
No comments:
Post a Comment