A Friend To Thee
I'll be a friend to Thee,
unlike the wheat I'll never be;
on level land,
on high plateau...
where wanders my emmer soul.
I'll be a lover to thee,
unlike the rice I'll never be;
ancient grasses of the plain.
I'm the modern age to Thee,
rustic millet, no longer free!
where old graveyards feed the stile.
emmer - a form of spelt
homeless smile - there are gaps in it: discontinuous and uncomfortable
stile - a turning entryway to an area; the feeding of it implies a good deal of use.
It is paradoxical to me, as I am good and bad to Thee, and our relationship is complex.
Late getting this up, because I was in the 1940's.