The mad thresher 

In  golden moon’s glow

Gleans the solemn harvest

From barren earth below

Seeds were sown

In wanton abandon

In gardens bereft of care

Left fallow land and

Their fruits then only spare

But from a seed

Forests may someday flourish

For not all need

Our attention to be nourished

For what man hath wrought

To esteem and guard from plunder

Nature without a thought

Will easily rend asunder