Man is not worthy like our Mother Earth.
Mortals may furrows turn from sun to sun,
Tilling fecund land as fair seasons run,
And to good grain and stalwart sons give birth,
Bearing each stony sorrow, each blind mirth,
As Earth bears shallow soil on hilltops dun,
Frost, flood, and plague, meeting them one by one,
Spinning the years as flaxen thread is spun.
But Mother Earth is far more faithful still
Than man who in old age has fallow years
To rest his hands, to ruminate on fears
Of ending death; Earth cannot hope to fill
The span of her eternity, nor spill
Her life blood: Earth has only gentle tears.