What richness would have grown.
Pour your wisdom over me
And let my valley groan
Once more with the blossoming green;
Once more with deepening life.
Let this womb bear what had once been.
Ease this womb her strife.
Tread softly over the poor hills
For hardly the wind has been touching.
The creaking sounds and whimpering sighs
You hear, are only the earth’s heart burning.
Yet fear not this vast graying terrain
Be sure you move on solid ground.
It only seeks a loving reign.
It only needs a crown.