I sometimes fear the younger generation will be deprived

of the pleasures of hoeing;

there is no knowing

how many souls have been formed by this simple exercise.

The dry earth like a great scab breaks, revealing

moist-dark loam—

the pea-root’s home,

a fertile wound perpetually healing.

How neatly the green weeds go under!

The blade chops the earth new.

Ignorant the wise boy who

has never rendered thus the world fecunder.