Undiscovered Things Poem by Roy Ballard

Where lie the undiscovered things?
Beneath the grass with buried kings
too deep for common ploughs to till
or lying shallow, who can tell?
Put down your book; come help me seek
the silent places where they're laid;
a lucky or industrious spade
could strike the stone that seals the well;
a bird with music in its beak
could sing the song that breaks the spell.
If you are holy lend me grace
to see the things you look upon,
to leave them untouched in their place
and having seen them to be gone.