Water drips from rigid ringers,
From our faces, from our hair.
Mud secretes between our toes and
Wind drives sand into our eyes.

Splinters digging, hands are bleeding,
Slipping on the wooden rods.
Bodies lean into the gust and
Push with all their might and heart.

Children walking, pushing, riding,
Girls are crafting corn husk dolls,
Boys are playing stick pull, and the
Babies cry from mothers’ arms.

Weakened by the sun, then winter,
Travelers drop on every side.
Dead are set in frozen soil or
Left to Nature’s bleak command.

Mountains looming and approaching;
White-tipped peaks stretch to the sky.
On the foothills flowers and grasses
Flood the ground beneath the trees.

Shovels, plows, and seeds are taken,
Planted in the rich brown earth.
Houses spring from fields and forests,
Stones are placed, and white walls rise.