The harvest has started,
Glistening beards of
Wheat and barley
Swaying for the last time.
Cut, thrashed and stripped,
Their long, golden bodies
Of straw strung
Into windrows within the dust.
There is a streaming sound
In the early night,
Small kernels flowing
Together into vast
Oceans of amber grain.
The coolness of the air
Signals an end to the day,
Early dew and ground fog
Toughening the pliant stems.
We will return tomorrow,
Catching the sunbeams of
Grain to ward off
The cold of
Winter.
Categories: Poetry