Land

Like waves of tall grass

     over dips and bumps

     joined sky by vibrant beams

     brushed by unbroken gusts

     and worked by calloused hands

     of an honest man.

Fertile and silent

     softly tread upon

     by grazing beasts.

Gently do the seasons turn

     pure as late icy crystals

     drifting upon winter land

     to sweltering temperatures

     and days of new growth.

Comforting is the faint humming

     of a distant tractor

     aiding in a far away field

     they work the ancient fields

     of which their bread is made

     by the nature of the Earth.

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