Ownership

Whose woods these are I do not know,

But his traces reveal him so.

Not of the owner do I speak,

For up from childhood did we grow.

The true owner I count him not,

For many men have owned this spot.

To call a thing “mine” is but a lie.

Our possessions outlive us lots.

Across each person it does span,

This lie itself, same age as land.

Blind we toil as slaves to this lie.

The rights of earth transcend all man.