DESCRIPTION:
--To TC--

As the climate gets warmer
The harvests get poorer.

We will need another night of chill
To bring them up out of the soil.
There is a place up on the hill,
Precious as an oil-field.

Again today we traipsed through wind and rain
And trudged through mud
As patiently as moss grows on a rock,
And by the flat, fallen stone there’s a spot
Where usually…

Again today we went out and found nothing.
Again, today, nothing.
As lichen spreads on an old tree stump
And leaf turns to loam in dripping damp,
We turn home…

Song: Kodagain
Music: Saša Zorić Čombe
Words: Quentin S. Crisp