Inspired by Marvell and his mower/garden poems.
And when the stars and planets align,
to make, take, or break Divine.
And kneading dough that breaks our Earth,
to farm and till for all its worth.
We consciously decide the weight to bear
against the grains of time that wear
Upon our brow that alternates
between furious loves and passionate hates.
To tame another adulterated fruit,
we claim a sovereignty above dispute.
Changing perceptions obsessed in hope,
how can we write without a rope?