When I bring children into this world,

I will teach them to treasure this Earth.

I will not let them roam, blindly

through these sacred hills and valleys

without knowledge of the feet that tread first.


They will help reap the harvest,

and I promise to speak in honest terms.

My children will not be slaves,

but they will know the truth about the world.


When it is time to slaughter,

my children will all come.

We will give thanks to the life ending for us,

We will streak our cheeks in blood.

For how dare we

Forget the lamb upon our plate?

How dare we eat as mush as we want

when we know his tortured fate?

My children will hold the knife

and they will know the gush of the slit.

Call it what you will

my children will know of it.


Then when we lose a loved one

I hope my children will understand-

that is just the way of life.

Ashes to ashes, dirt, and sand.

We will dig the grave deep-

sometimes six feet is not deep enough.

There is something for grief in digging,

the last act that you can perform.


There upon the hillside,

as the sun slowly touches down,

they will have turned up some beautiful Earth,

They will not have paid a thousand a plot

stuffed next to strangers,

in a mud hole dug by ex cons- no


they will have a crude crust of land

dug deep enough to hug my bones

long after my hair has turned to precious


and my heart returned to Earth

my blood mingled with the blood

of all the lambs

before us.


I leave my children








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