The verse

Chase not last season's grain upon the ridge,Its withered ears no longer fall to the blade;Turn back the frozen soil of your forefathers' field,Deep into spring, the new shoots rise unbade.

Reading

This lot bids you not pine for withered ears nor chase last year's wind. Return to your own field, turn the old soil deep; once the root-line is rejoined, new shoots come of themselves. Ask not how great the harvest, only whether what you sow is truly yours.

The temple keeper adds

A high lot. Don't take it as a guarantee; take it as leave to walk on, easy.

[ Draw another at the temple ][ Keep a traffic omamori ]