The Very Last

The last trader returned
to a Finnish port loaded
with the same merchandise
it had carried to the world market.

The ship had visited all
the many ports of the continents.
Famous Finnish products had been offered
finally "at any price",
but no one had wanted to buy them.

Industry, grown out of proportions,
had filled the earth; the industrial product,
once completed,
had turned into waste.

The last Finnish farmer
was eighty years of age.
He would not be persuaded
to produce bread on his field.

The last tree, good enough for the factory's maw,
was proudly standing -
the last lumberjack had refused
to bend down to its foot.

 People gathered round the last farmer,
asking questions and pleading:
- Tell us, dear grandpa, tell us,
how to till the earth.

 The last tiller sat on a rock
like good old Väinämöinen,
a five-stringed kantele on his knees.
 

He sang the last Finnish hymn:
It I pass away from here,
it is for me a victory.

The old farmer boarded his boat,
sat down in the rear, and taking the paddle,
drifted out to sea.

The very last man skilled in earthly life
had left Finnish ground.