The trees were there and still.
The air was gray
The hills that had no will
Lay a strange way.
Men toiled on the earth as ever
Out here and there
As if digging for treasure
But calm without care.
Things were likely the same
In every other earthly spot:
The world and the human grain
Alive as not.
I walked to see it through,
Content and in dread.
My feet were good workers too
Walking under my head.