The Ploughman Cometh

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by Zen Gardner


Ready your heart, ready your steel

The plowman’s coming and is he ever real

Ready your starboard, ready your stern

He’s not very picky as it’s everyone’s turn


Plow up the earth, dig up the dearth

Till ‘till the tillerman’s done all he’s worth

Old plants uprooted, raked from the soil

Making room for the new for our too-human coil


No one can tell how the change will unfold

It’s ever so private, yet ever so bold

Will each of us yield, and let nature’s sway?

Or cling to the old, and be thus dragged away


Cycles they must, to break up the crust

Where stagnation meets change is always a bust

Some are so supple, yet others resist

The choice is within, what’ere we insist


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