Labels:text | screenshot | graphic design OCR: HARVEST MOON- For seven years our crops have failed Our final stores lay in the past. lo wheat to reap, no hay to bale, We slave that we might break our fast. We grimly sowed our final seeds, The meager few remaining grains. That we might harvest, we might feed, And ease our cursed hunger pains. Our horse is tired, weak, and frail, I gent ly ease with goad and prop, Her skin-tight eyes are large and pale, She pulls the plough through unborn crops. Je humbly pray for gentle rain To wash our battered calloused souls. To soften nigh our torrid pains And free us from this barren hole. The winds and dust storms scour the land And tear asunder house and farm. Replace earth's dirt with lifeless sand And cause our seedlings endless harm. C TH SOU LU! With hungry eyes we watch the ground For tender shoots and seedlings sprout. We dare not wish abundance profound For we must still stand the time of drought. The air gets dry, the winds blow strong, The land itself, it bends with heat, The nights are short, the days are long, We struggle to defy defeat. "Why choose the LESSER of two evils ?! ' The heat draws on, the wind dies down, The sacred plants begin to fruit. (c) MİSTİGRiS '94 We make a leafy pagan crown, And decorate, with branch and root. Come blessed fall, Saturnus wakes, And grants us puny farmers boons, We ready sickles, scythes and rakes, In earnest for the Harvest Moon.
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