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Show Do-good Plow 8 "I'm lookin," Alvin says, "for a soil that's fit To spring up golden grain, make cattle fat." And the unseen speaker says, "What soil is that?" "I'm lookin," Alvin says again, "for loam That a plow can vvhittle till it comes to life." And the unseen speaker says, "A plow's a knife, And where it cuts the earth is broke and lame." Says Alvin, "Mar to mend, from the moldrin leaf Will grow the limb." "Then go, if you mean to make from the broken ground, Go till you hear the rushin river's sound, For there in the river's bight is a dirt so rich You can harrow with your hand and plow with a flitch." "Thank you, stranger," Alvin says, and then: "I've heard your voice before, I can't think when." "In such a fog as this, so cold and wet, Your sight's so dim your memory's in debt And you forget, For the fog, it goes afore and it goes behind, Hides what you're lookin for and what you've found, And the deeper you go, the dimmer is your past. And yet in all the world, this soil is best." With that, though Alvin tried to learn his name, The unseen speaker never answered him, And at last the journeyman smith went on to find In the fog, by iistenin tight for the river's sound, That perfect ground. Near done was the day when Alvin came to the shore Of the mighty River Mizeray, all deep And brown and slow and lookin half asleep. Said Mizeray, "Jes step a little more, Young feller, and I'll carry you across." And Alvin, blind as a bat in the fog, he said, "Don't I hear the rush of a river in its bed?" But Mizeray, he gave a little toss And whispered, "Cross." So again that day young Alvin Maker judges If the world is what a hidden voice alleges. And how can he know what's true in a fog so white? He kneels, he touches the soil, he lifts it light, He crushes it is his hand and it's loose and smooth, But still old Mizeray's voice can tickle and sooth, And says, "Come on, step on, I'll carry you To the only soil in the world that'll ever do, I tell you true." |
