Greyhair fool / Shoes undone / The fields ahead / Leaves black as coalLandmark-free / No walls, No treesto greet him on this night of his returnC--So who will love this lie on legs who can't change skin and is not yet dead? The universal foreigner The homeless, greyhair sonScrambles blind up muddy slopethen silent shakes before rusty gates--CThere's a house, its roof caved inA rusty wreck of car / A lightning-blasted treeand a man who says, "So here you are--the boy who broke the plough,who struck his father down, who told us to be damnedand betrayed us to the Englishman!""Who will love this lie on legs? On paving-stones I've made my bedNot a living soul now speaks my name but here at least I have my shameI thought to come and taste once more what the priestly fables all ignore:the un-eternal consequence," says the greyhair sonGreyhair fool / Shoes undone / He'll top at dawn / Now hews his ploughWind blows on / The soil is poison / He sets to work / He and his ploughFinal union / He and his plough / Plough