I walk on meadows run to weed, <br />on fields of burdock and mallow. <br />I know this rank and ancient ground - <br />this is the Magyar fallow. <br />I bow down to the sacred soil; <br />this virgin ground is gnawed I fear. <br />You skyward groping seedy weeds, <br />are there no flowers here? <br />While I look at the slumbering earth, <br />the twisting vines encircle me, <br />and scent of long dead flowers steep <br />my senses amorously. <br />Silence. I am dragged down and roofed <br />and lulled in burdock and in mallow. <br />A mocking wind goes whisking by <br />above the mighty fallow.<br /><br />Endre Ady<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-magyar-fallow/
