A Song of Plows

There was a time when men were giants

In a land that sang a forgotten song

The tune was that of plows cleanly breaking

A soil that knew happiness all along


The ground cries out, Remember Me, as I once was

But no one listens to this lonely chorus

The plow, now brown with ages of rust,

Tells the story of all of us


If plows could talk to voice opinions of old

Would we listen at all

Or trash what is told

About a place called home by many today

Yet trampled by them as if life were but play


Time is not taken to nurture our land

And in this we become less than man

We follow our passions of progress and wealth

As the story of the plow is placed on the shelf.


-Alan Harrelson

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