Voices on the Wind
Voices of Protest
The Third Horseman of the Apocalypse
by Wilda Morris
The third seal has been opened.
Monsanto mounts the black horse,
gallops across the world’s plains,
its grasping hands full of seeds for sale,
seeds engineered and patented.
No one heard the horseman whisper,
we’ll corner the market, commodify
the seed supply, make the world
dependent, leave no way back
from the seeds we spread.
Too late we heard the voice that said,
a day’s wages for a loaf of bread,
a bowl of barley soup, or a handful of rice
with a few beans. Don’t worry
if the price is too high
for the laborer bent in the field,
the mother with child at her breast.
But don’t damage the extra virgin
olive oil, don’t damage the wine.