To the kettles of love that whistle and sing,
On the burning charcoals of life,

To the oil lamps who have been abandoned,
In the wake of street lights,

To the whips that blaze the flesh of innocent horses,
With tears and no will or power of their own,

To the apples that rot and die 'neath the debris of earth,
The seed of life dying in their helpless embrace,

To the fields of...