The Paper Stays Blank Unless You Write

The paper stays blank Unless you write The forest stays bare Unless you plant your seed The clouds disappear Until a new season draws near The fire sits in a furnace Only if an iron gate bars the sparks The land lays waste on a hill If the idle hands fail to fertilize it The rain will bury the dead And all who sit beside it The birds will lift us into the heights Only when we reach up to find them The season gives no reason For those who reap in bare heat For their labor gives them life Yet no land can afford them Their words are few To let let wisdom flow through Striving of the world is trivial gain If the treasures of dust are all that you made Discount the most and relinquish the many For in few are the faithful, the meek and the plenty