https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/robert-bly

Poem Against the Rich

Each day I live, each day the sea of light

Rises, I seem to see

The tear inside the stone

As if my eyes were gazing beneath the earth.

The rich man in his read hat

Cannot hear

The weeping in the pueblos of the lily,

Or the dark tears in the shacks of the corn.

Each day the sea of light rises

I hear the sad rustle of the darkened armies,

Where each man weeps, and the plaintive

Orisons of the stones.

The stones bow as the saddened armies pass.