Tall are the crops in the farmer’s fields
And perfect the garden rose
But the savage sea’s full of corpses
And the wild skies full of crows.
So where is the worm in the apple
And where is the honey bee?
And where are the songbirds that nested
In the perfumed apple tree?
He is gone the hollow-flanked dogfox
The farmer has poisoned his prey.
I would give all your rosy perfection
To see his young ones at play.

