Oh, glory to the working man, who works the land with calloused hands. And glory to the highest tree, With leaves that drift like steam off tea. Glory to the axe he owns, That turns the trees to stumps and stones. Glory to the branching arms, Which reach toward skies like knotting yarn. Glory to his next of kin, For whom he swings his axe of sin. Glory to the seeds it’s sown, To sprout from earth and one day grow. So, Glory to all life alike, The birds, our herds, and roses’ spikes. And glory to the plant we slay, For always hoping; one more day.
Jacob is a student at Lehigh Valley Charter High School for the Arts.