Yeild

Do what you will with me. 

Plow or plant 

or let me lie fallow;

it is not for me to say. 

I am only to yeild 

to your wise farmer hands. 

The husbandry of my heart  

is your concern and you

will bring 

a hale and hearty harvest 

if I will but let you have your way. 

Now you bend and 

tenderly scoop up a bit of the  

wounded and wild earth that I am. 

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