the silent corn seed

para los Braceros.

At tender dawn,
When the proud roosters
Begin to sing,
We rise like spring flowers,
And walk
To the hungry corn stalks
To cultivate the ancient land.

We follow the river's bend,
To the land,
And cross ourselves,
Punctually,
Before entering
The rustling stalks.

The immortal ritual of
The sun's rays
Glaring
Down
On
Us:

Never fully conquers our resilient backs.

The consistency of
The cool breeze,
Like the ox,
Reassures our
Arduous resolve,
And gently guides
Our calm
Along
The field's fluid
Atmospheric charm.

It is Sunday,
Today,
And tomorrow
Fall shall rise
In the silver thoughts of
Grandfather's
Humble sense of pride:

Mexico's strength,
He used to say,
Lies at the center of
The ancient universe,

In the heart of
The silent corn seed.