Memoirs - Sicilia

One must wake early to make love
to the wet earth. One must make
the sun his second wife, and sleep
with her daily.

One must live for fickle hearts,
The roots one has and holds
forever in himself.

One must burn to
loathe his land-thieves, and
caress his pregnant soil-spouse
with a tender hand.

One must learn that
souls of fields are their shimmer
in the wind.