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