From the marshes in the West down to the sands of eastern borders we of old and ancient blood do treasure all our soils. Rich in traces rare and true, mountain-ranges high and blue do hide the vastness of our wealth, we who share with all who need it, we whose skills are speed and stealth. Every sifting pans a mint now, every spadeful yields a trove, liquefied or still in nuggets, all are gifts from Yennd above. Now our mines do sing with labor, now they form a deadly tomb, years of toil wrought in iron, plentiful the earthen womb. Soil loamy, filled with promise, crops that leap to skies above, rich and endless is the feasting, livestock fattens in the stables, rain-soaked patterns paint the dirt. Oh fair Mother, endless giver, take this paltry offering, drink of blood and tears and sunshine, think of us when next you quiver, shaking mountain, bluff, and plain. Yours is mercy, rot and ruin, yours is fame and quick delight, you we praise now, Earthly mistress, see us through this one last night. Soon enough our bones we'll give you, soon enough we'll turn to ash, feeding then the creeping critters, we all merge with you at last. Keep us humble, founded, giddy, hold us when the skies turn gray, slay our doubts and ancient troubles, guide us on the smoothest way.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
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