Matte pastels and yellowed whites,
wilted flower.

Matte pastels and yellowed whites,
wilted flower.
Curling pine green leaves grasp the air,
gasping in despair.
“How fair we once were”
No sunshine or droplet can repair.
So let the reaper descend,
A scythe he may lend,
A word he may offer:

“I promise you,
The seed shall split in two.
In the night it shall multiply.
By day it shall grow.
So sow, sow, sow!
Save none for the next season.
Lest ye be ready to face charges of treason.
There is no reason to hold any back.
There is no glory for seeds in a sack.”

Your body may be built an ox,
Your voice may pierce a coxswain:
So row, row, row!
Body will be bone meal and breakfast,
Voice will fade breeze in a tempest.




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