Lands seem to lock with language

Rolling, agitated, calm, brusque

Peoples with their earth

I can see them

Firmly grasping soil,

Damp, freshly tilled

Briskly walking contours by intuition.

Many crave this understanding

Expansive and deep

For centuries, a family rests

Where it remains.

Until a child grows too restless,

Cannot maintain the charade

Planted fields dry up - stubborn husks

Cling to the end.

Even roots, in time, wither.

People roam.

They trade waters, populate new homes

Find another landscape calling.