when you came to join
the few, not on this fertile
planet Earth we were a cubicle
of flesh on your loin.

all alone but not in vain
you filled with yield the grain
field, battled the weary war for us
your fruits - a proud heritage!

from the hoed brown
carpet, buds have grown
in varied hues, with blades
bowed low, communed to their shades.

now you uncome and left
the unfew, not on this barren-swept
planet Earth you are a cubicle
of flesh on our loins.