Imagine a land, modest in size.
Imagine a people, few in number.
Everyone lives aware of death
and no one thinks to leave.
With all the means to travel far,

no one rides away.
With weapons and armor stored away,
no one is defensive.
give them rope, they reckon with knots
. Give them simple food, they savor it;
simple clothes, they dress handsomely;
simple dwellings, they feel secure; simple customs, they find delight.
The nearby land in plain view lies—
and one can hear their roosters crow!—
still no one ventures forth,
even unto the day they die.
© Douglas Allchin 2002