Rashyyd
n00b
Bastion of Sanity
Posts: 3
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Post by Rashyyd on Aug 8, 2006 16:54:38 GMT -5
"Breaking Bread"
The folk of Westfall tend tall wheat that bows only with the weight of its fruit, Like a man whose back is bent from proudly lifting his many children. Their bread is rich and dark, a currency more stable than gold.
This whole grain and rye means the same to any hungry belly. To tear open the bread's hard husk and smell the cottony folds within: Such is to know the gods can benedict and bless the bold.
They have earned this hard-won gift, and mercifully shared at our table. Blood, sweat, tears have in generations befriended stubborn soil. Bread has tended the folk in turn: women soft and men hard.
Bandits come and the farmers weather this bad harvest. Yet the land is grown fearful and reluctant under these strangers' tread. Change has come; a new season, unknown and strangely-starred.
The wheat worries for the humans coupling in its field, And the stones sing dirges for the newly dead. The land awaits the first of the strangers' plows, a manifesto practiced, and then:
"No," they will say -- a chorus of grain and hops and soils and stones, Hills and trees, Westfall incarnate's skin, blood, and bones -- "No," they will say. "We will not live for you. We would rather die for them."
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