Villages to the horizons, extends the field from our maternity; <br />Spring has just arrived. <br />The light veil of snow is not enough any more to cover our fertilized nudity. <br />Thus return towards us, ô ploughmen! <br />The mornings are already scented scents of April; <br />The brooks chirp with the cast iron of the ices, <br />And of our hot side already the Narcisse germinated. <br />Thus return! your handles abounding in seeds, <br />We await them with the discrete desire of the women; <br />The ray of the sun was already inserted, in our hearts. <br />It is according to the sweat which you will have poured <br />That will inflate the reddish ears; how much sharp will be our pleasure, <br />When the soc.se puts to crush our centres.<br /><br />Daniel Varoujan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-invitation-with-the-fields/
