Through Ages and Ages Eternal by Conrado V. Pedroche

and the seed struck roots
beneath the rich dark breasts of the hills
and the trees grew stately and tall against the skies
and with the trees man built himself a house;
and the house was good and clean;
the breath of the tress was in it,
and the warmth of the forest was its soul.
a man said; this is my house,
this is my body’s house,
as also it is my soul’s.
and there he raised his children
and they, too, in their time
sowed the loved seeds
under the white eternal suns of the earth, in the far hills
in the valleys where the grass
was sweet and cool and shining
and they, too, reared their children
and their homes, and they said:
GOD, these are ours till we die,
and man sitting alone,
thinking of these things was happy;
fulfilled at last
the cycle completed though endless
and life goes on and on and on
through arches of opulent eternities,
orbited in seeds and flowers and love.

but now man sits alone and unhappy
for in the far hills and in the plains and valleys
where once his children reared their children
and built their homes and sowed the loved seeds
under the white eternal suns of the earth;
in the far valleys where once the brooks
enriched the fields of grains
and farmers, children of his children,
stood against the sunrise and saw
in the bright-vistaed distances
the future, the harvest, the nights of
full moons and peace and love-songs
and heard the tender sound of pounding
in the still nights; saw the fat sheaves
piled high over the reach land, promises
of plenty and freedom from want and hunger
heard the laughter and saw the singing gold
and the fulfillment of the triple mating
of rain, and sun, and earth
in the far fields and valleys:
no life but death
no longer singing gold but blood.
and in the cool sweet grass where once the winds
stirred in song, he saw bodies of men
who were his children, their hearts forever stilled in death.

man sees all this and sitting thus in silence
and shame, he weeps but light shines upon
his bowed head and he goes down his house
and walks over his fields again
he bends down to contemplate a blade of grass
peeping from a crack in the dry earth:
the grass does not die, he says.
and through his tears he sees life arising
in meekness but triumphant from the ravaged cities of his soul.
and man knows in his heart, suddenly, that after these:
there shall come beauty again, and dove again,
and love gain – through ages and ages eternal.