And a depression in the soft
Of currency, managed heads
Beads and discriminated furrows,
The corn in her vestments
Yet to wed, still in the perusal
Of soft sun and somewhere
Else, distant hammering, a concourse
Going up for the righteous to
Watch from. Listen to the wind
For some oohs and aahs,
Crowds of pruning heads a jingle
To the news, anchor of the day
From this equator, torrid sunlight
On crops and crops of money.
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