A Song for Peaceful Folk

Let us sing a song for peaceful folk, for the unmurdering few. They live on a flat piece down by the bay, with a view of water, their place grown around with berry vines and gangling tomato plants. They spend their days on the sand or hoeing the grainy California soil, and their nights staring at flat white moons that linger in their region.

The sea is at their ear, the dust from the field sifts gently over the threshold of their open door, they are kind to wandering dogs and to small boys who come in at noon, seeking oranges.