Читать книгу Songs I Sing - B. Germain Reynolds - Страница 18

Firesome

Where was the forest for the fire; wild

Smoke climbing up to heaven

Like the cries of the weary; black

Putrid, devoid of form

Spelling nothing, hiding life; thick

Clouding man’s vision

Leaving in its path

Waste

Wonder

Woe.

If the trees had refused to grow; tall

Their limbs reaching out

Heavy laden with fruit and flower; pretty

Ripe, bearing life in fragrant cups

Overflowing with the land’s milk and honey; sweet

Filling man’s eyes

Offering their goods

Rich

Real

Ransom.