HARVEST, POETRY

THE CRY OF THE HARVEST

Can you hear the
cry of the harvest
sounding out plaintively
from endless furrows and rows
of acres and acres of wheat
in the wide harvest field,
stretching out as far
as the eyes can see?

I see patches of field
reaped in sheaves,
a swathe of harvest,
mowed down into
piles of sheaves,
bound into bundles,
gathered by reapers.

© Miriam Jacob

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