Turn Aside Freshly Cut Soil

A poem should cultivate your heart & soul It should riddle out every rock & stone Turn aside freshly cut soil like a scroll Driving straight furrows till the seed is sown. There to harvest the grain these men must toil Dig with their brawny, weak minds a new earth Labour as though their way home would uncoil Like a flower, that's been doubled, in its girth. All this, a good poem can endeavour to do But often they're far & few that written Can shine some fresh light or cast some fresh dew Everything that's written is, rewritten. It's no use cultivating the topsoil If it already has a bountiful spoil.