Zipher Of Land Poem by Velmar Pewee Hale Johnson

Shant not the world be covered in death, vague, cruel, and forbidden.
I toil, and scrape the land beneath my feet, yet nothing grows.
I water, and water, but the ground stays dry.
I seed the earth, but nothing lives.
I talk to the plants, but they ignore me.
I cry to the trees, but the simply shake in reply.
Days and nights pass so fast, the moon is full and the sun has gone.
Waters beat against the shores, and clean away that which is no longer.
Are we so different, or are we the same as that which surrounds us?
We are all zipher of land, and shall forever be under its spell.