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Maria Matos


Free Member, Lisboa

Fields od gold

The cornfields rise above mankind,
Lifting white torches to the blue,
Each season not ashamed to be
Magnificently decked for you.

What right have you to call them yours,
And in brute lust of riches burn
Without some radiant penance wrought,
Some beautiful, devout return?

The Cornfields
Vachel Lindsay


Torre Vã
Portugal

Comments 7