Maybe during World War II to sit in a chair in the morning and drink coffee
meant you would also know that Nazis were around and to be dealt with.
Today and tomorrow.
And any line of text you dropped would fall onto ground about to be a literal grave.
The threat is death in three directions, avoidable and unavoidable, the war, the land, the time running out.
And your little feelings are allowed out loud for only a minute before they wither in the heat
like an ear of wheat many seeded, useful once.
Milled you will be too, composted.
