Deep sown seeds in the weathered clay of ancients
Fog of dawn blankets the soil in dew and gray
Stems bending in the wind gusts and biting thunder
Blades open towards the light of fire and heat of day

Harvest scythe swings over the field as a razor pendulum
Shadows of the hunter lurk at the forest's overgrown edge
The gatherer's gaze solemnly up at the tower of silos
A palmful of seeds, dusty and dry, husks trampled in soil

Sprinkled over dirt like loaming ashes drifting thrown
Crops erupt through fielded crust with skyward fists raised
Distant steppes down valley and hill hyenas roams
Pups laughter echoes in the clans earthly praise

Seeds placed in furrows sprout to the tune of rain
Open summoning hands reaching primal clouds
Trimming the compass rose steel sharpens steel
Deceitful phantasm study only the blade that is real

The pitiful will succumb to the empty call hoarding all they can
The strong do give of their forge bellows and open larder
While the bold stand at the edge of civilization
Grinding meal from thrice sown grain
And they transform

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