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If he had eyes as once he had,



He'd plainly see his farm,



But now his eyes are gone,



His heart is stopped, his flesh decays,



And George's farm cannot be seen



Unless through the eyes of those



Who mount the hill and tend the grave,



And tending, therefore see



The farm he owned still fertile on



The valley floor below.



The land survives, the grain still grows,



George's heir now owns the field.







An afternoon arrived



When George's niece moved through the graves.



I had a thermos and remained behind



And heard a tractor, heard its voice



Rising from the valley floor.







    George is in another sphere



    Consorting there with other peers,



    And I'm assigned to live my life



    In solitude and lonely years.