Monday, September 15, 2014

Bea*lin II(iv): The rolling hills of Poland

The rolling hills of Poland
shine green and ever golden
in the softly setting light of the lucid Sun.

Were I a farmer tilling
and my husband wheat stalks milling
the sky would burn with stars when we were done.

The dark falls always quicker
and the smoke streets’ smog grows thicker
every year we waste in the concrete block we live.

Should we one day so toil
that our sweat makes mud of soil
I should thank those suns for us their burning give.

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