King of Discs

More than Jack’s magic beans,

Every act is a ritual.

Honor the land to honor me;

Charged to care for the vineyard;

empty vines are disobedient;

it is good land, where grapes grow.

Make harvest not war.

Count the yield in the third hour and then again in the sixth;

clear away the stones, nettles, and thorny ground;

do not trample down the starts, nor destroy my portion.

Look to my holy mountain, and the fertile hills;

Mark each seed;

plant a fig tree in their midst.

Sing the song of the vineyard,

‘Plowman dig my earth’.

like the ox, the wolf, the lamb; and the lion,

I will eat straw.

My toil will make firm the feeble.

I will keep it day and night.

Perishables grow in my garden,

 yet Death is swallowed up

my tiny seeds.