The green and gold of summer's lease
Have been transmuted into grey.
The fields that were left to fallow,
Wait, for the kiss of steel on clay.
But the disused plough rusts, silently,
Amidst the spilled and wasted seeds.
The farmyard rats grow sleek and fat,
While our dreams are choked with weeds.
The hopes we set our hearts upon,
Of harvest, hearth, and home,
Lie coiled and still, asleep, unborn,
Beneath their suffocating loam.
And still the seasons quietly slide,
Down to where the river bends,
As we plunge blindly, on and on,
Towards our separate, lonely ends.
And while we may not, the Earth
Still turns, blind to our foolish fate.
How many greenings left to see,
Before it is too late...
So come, and from this desolation,
With me, a newer Eden make;
Re-light the fuse of our desires,
(There is no apple, without the snake).
The past has gone, and future's wings
Are poised, in readiness for flight.
It is you I love, whose hand I want
In mine, as I put these wrongs to right.
I have the strength to pull a double share,
So that we may plant for our tomorrow,
But I need your hands upon the reins,
For it is the follower who guides the furrow.
