Ours to plough not to plunder

The earth is ours to plough and plant
The hoe is her barber
the dibble her dimple

Out with mattocks and matches
bring calabash trays and rocking baskets
let the sweat which swells earthroot
relieve heavy heaps of their tuberous burdens
let wheatfields raise their breadsome hands
to the ripening sun
let legumes clothe the naked bosom
of shivering mounds
let the pawpaw swell and swing
it’s headward breasts

Let water spring
from earth’s unfathomable fount
let gold rush
from her deep unseeable mines
hitch up a ladder to the dodging sky
let’s put a sun in every night

Our earth is an unopened grainhouse,
a bustling barn in some far, uncharted jungle
a distant gem in a rough unhappy dust

This earth is
ours to work not to waste
ours to man and not to maim
The earth is ours to plough, not to plunder


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