Fertile Ground

Weather worn hands

penetrate virgin soil.

Life implanted

through blood and toil.

Years of work

On the open field.

Bring to them

a fruitful yield.

But when the land

Is passed onto child.

Gluttony runs awild.

Impetuous and Forsaken.

Growing nothing,

And only taking.

Eventually they

starve and die.

The land however waits…

Offering men another try.


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