Plain

The country roads beneath my feet define
A not-so-distant past. Yet still, in some
Parts of this place the roads mark a straight line
To another time, when people called home

The farms and fields that daily provide food
For the gentry of the now. We partake
Of bounties as they ever were. The good,
Great stewards of the land so proudly make

A life in this community. The rich
Bounty we all are fortunate to share
Is just as it ever was. Progress, which
Can be a burden, make the farmers care

About what they do each day to adhere
To ancient customs ancestors held dear.


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