Song of the Farmer

Make love to the land;
Hold her in your hand,
And breathe in her musk,
In silence, at dusk.

Not too hard, nor too soon,
Or she'll not grant her boon;
Recline on her breast:
Land yields when caressed.

        --Paul LeValley

Go to the next selection.

Return to the table of contents.

Return to the Paul LeValley book page.