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THE FARMER

He sells his soul to tend the earth To make this crown within my plate Yet I am taught to hate this man. In rain or shine he strikes his blow To force my future life to grow Yet I am told to hate this man. He crawls for miles to feed me fresh Extorted yet he toils the more Yet I am asked to hate this man. With crude weapons he makes his war For me he waits upon the rains Yet I am forced to hate this man. Am ignorant peasant they claim Has not a place amongst the saved But which ought people best pamper: The golden egg or bird which lays?

Copyright © | Year Posted 2011




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