I first saw the wheat in the morning,
smelled the wind blustering forth--
Wondered that it must taste like
that very morning, in what complex way crops do.
And when the bear-locusts eat them,
what they would say
if they bled pans of gold to romance their amber,
if only then
would they be jubilant
if only on their death beds!
"Don't admire the fields," says Agricoltore.
Why?
"Because they like--they don't change."
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
I first saw the wheat in the morning,
smelled the wind blustering forth--
Wondered that it must taste like
that very morning, in what complex way crops do.
And when the bear-locusts eat them,
what they would say
if they bled pans of gold to romance their amber,
if only then
would they be jubilant
if only on their death beds!
"Don't admire the fields," says Agricoltore.
Why?
"Because they like--they don't change."
Request permission to use this poem