| What is it makes a man to delve the earth, | |
| to hide his feet dug deep in the soil | |
| and cry out to the night | |
| I am here! | |
| |
| To stand, in the wind and the rain, | 5 |
| while birds nestle in his beard | |
| and the frost pinches him naked | |
| to think of his roots and forget his lost leaves | |
| looking only to the summer that was | |
| and the spring that will be | 10 |
| until the lightning comes, | |
| or the hurricane, | |
| or the foresters with their axes? | |
| |
| Who can resist the squish of mud between his toes | |
| the soft loamy soil | 15 |
| who can resist the tender yearning of the earth | |
| the call of the land | |
| binding him there | |
| forever? | |