Harvester

Another century of gathering grass

Turning all the blades into pretty bundles

Though the green sea couldn’t claim domain

Other aspects of nature wanted to be grabbed

And transformed

 

For instance rocks, brains, or even tall buildings

They clamored for that transformative hand

It spun miracles but had veins and flesh

As much capacity as any other corporeal thing

 

The hand didn’t touch stones or walls directly

Laws were its tongue and eyes

Feeling and tasting in the dark

What a noble pastime

Above and far beyond

The dirt that stung its pupils

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