I sometimes fear the younger generation will be deprived
 of the pleasures of hoeing;
 there is no knowing
how many souls have been formed by this simple exercise.
The dry earth like a great scab breaks, revealing
 moist-dark loam—
 the pea-root’s home,
a fertile wound perpetually healing.
How neatly the green weeds go under!
 The blade chops the earth new.
 Ignorant the wise boy who
has never rendered thus the world fecunder.
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