John Lack-Land

A fieldless plough-boy, unhorsed knight,

He drives and rides machinery

And smells of nature, grease and steel,

As others smelt of earth and horse.

Sunsets, above the fruitless roofs,

Reveal to him, through screens of smoke,

The morrow's weather and bring joy

To workshops where he dreams of crops.

Meanwhile, another nature-lore,

Reflected from machines and crowds,

Grows in his mind until he feels

The right to boundless ownership.