What color am I unground?Ī calm grassy hill, sun shines from above. Planted in patches in more rows than three.Ī bushel of me is a bushel to eat. It won'tīe forgotten, though just a scar remains.Ī budding rose and twisting leaves. Take your chance if you are near, but bring a turnip or don'tĪ bond deep and strong, carried through the veins. What am I?Ī little building full of lights, many sparks, what a fright! Both feeding and feasting on the flora in rows. Tending to the farm work, but no hoe or hose. Traveling, traveling, busy in the air, bustling, bustling, to the fields for which we care. What do an ox, a rat, and a human all have in common? As the blue, cloudless haze dons its silk black gown, Boundless cosmos shine their light down. Which am I?Ībove heads of tranquil dreamers, invisible at dawn, Far-off, faint and feeble, from the sun, they stay withdrawn. You cannot kill the brave one, who fights like dawn is near. Or drive the cold deeper into your bones.Ī battle on the horizon, a soldier stands steadfast with her spear. I can disappear or appear where I please but a swirl of destruction is left behind me. Or peep me at the end of a chameleon tail, Lest their future together is what you wish to betray. Is sabotage that world-hoppers shouldn't downplay, ""If you love them, let them go,"" they say,īut to do so without letting their feelings convey Sweet when underneath the ground, bitter up on top, when the music starts to pound, you can let me drop Beware of falling into me, you may catch a cold. When the sun arrives, I try to join it in the sky. A figure of solidarity, the land knows him well.Īs I was raised, I drank the tears of the sky and ate the luminous rays of the sun, and with time I give back to the people that raised me. Worn clothes and rough hands bearing the burden of his work pesky children mean he doesn't always get to reap what he sows yet, he persists.
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