an old writer and his words

It is difficult to acceptthat the glutinous blobcongealed on the plate beneaththe salt lick worthy pilesof ill cooked vegetablesand fried tofu now limpwas ever related tothe swaying stalks in neat rowsbetween flooded furrows,under the watchful eyea Fujiyama and theShinto gods residing there.What would the old farmerbent over by time thinkif he could see whatlay before…