Her little sisters and her brothers wait
For her to join them at the garden gate,
And in her sleep her laugh is undefiled,
For she is once again a little child.
The anxious farmer sees his fallow land
Yield heavy crops beneath the reaper’s hand,
And barren orchards bend beneath the weight
Of golden fruit, ’twas joy to cultivate.
No landlord’s agent doth his peace invade.
He dreams of ownership, and taxes paid.