Magnificent Young Thing
You are the most magnificent young thing:
you bud, you blossom, fruit before my eyes,
kinetic artwork winning some great prize,
you move and flourish, and my heart takes wing.
I glory in you, as a countryside
enraptures one who loves his place of birth
and sees life blossoming, feels natureís mirth
in fertile land the farmer takes as bride.
He loves his bulls and cows, his boars and sows;
sees orchards, beehives, pastures and is thrilled...
The piglets first, then the sow will be killed.
But beasts donít know the fate of pigs and cows -
they know the farmer loves them, and thatís that.
And you donít know youíll age and run to fat.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Robin Helweg-Larsen
would be pleased to hear them.