In the farmers search for the right hand
He roams the earth until he finds this land
He spies a field with a wall of corn
All at once his idea takes form
Golden corn dancing and swaying in the breeze
He smells the earth as he drops to his knees
In the distance he glimpses a wild rose hedge
With trembling knees he stands and makes his pledge
Admiring the contours of the undulating terrain
His hands mold the earth she doesn’t complain
Earth’s bed now ready for the farmer’s seed
Time for the cycle of creation to proceed
Sun rays gently kiss the earth making her warm
Preparing the ground for the mounting storm
Thunder crashes lightning dashes across the sky
Dark clouds turn into electric charges and stellify
Shafts of rain pierce the earth and make her glow
Her silhouette the crests of waves in a starlit show
Howling winds rage over the earth making her moan
Calm winds blowing soft whispers after the gale has flown
The earth’s womb impregnated with farmer’s seed
Farmer and Mother Earth call the seedlings to succeed
this poem appears in our print quarterly number eight, Dear South Africa.
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