Mother Poem by Iohannes Silvaticus

Clasp your trodden hills,
Ravaged again and again.
Rains of arrows will fill
Your trenches once again.

There is no sovereignty
As there is no virginity
After perturbation.
But blood will cease to flow.

Your fruit will leech you dry;
The minerals of your earth.
Your first born will suckle from you,
And make you barren land.

When all but dirt remains,
Your offspring will leave
You, sandy and forlorn
And move to find new lands.