Owner of land and peasant
I tend to fields and forests
I raise armies to engage the hostile
Build fiefdoms my sons occupy
Power is that voice growing louder
It's magnetic voice echoing over this soil
The land is still even the wind can't move it
I can feel the stones and boulders below the surface
I can hear my name on those whispers
Through the farmers sharp hoe clashing
The slow penetrating root
The wayward stream
It all whispers today I am yours
Tomorrow I will be your resting place
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