Our Daily Bread
In summer's loam we earned our daily bread
But now there comes the sting as all turns mean
And soil corrupts to black and much is dead.
Here now has departed last trace of green.
Sunlight is no more than a sad glimmer.
The tubers battle on in their earth trench
While late recruits are too weak to endure.
They lose the fight; their flesh falling to mulch.
Now we rely upon our larder's wealth
With lots that we preserved by diverse means.
But lack of fresh food now affects our health.
When can we grow again our fruit and greens?
Winter withers the earth to a dark death.
We long for spring and the joy of rebirth.
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