Harvested Wheat


with scything blades

the king falls

laid low

in golden splendour

beneath nefarious skies

as mournful gazes


shadows creeping

rivulets of life-blood


teardrops withheld

as duty is


Cut ShortIt’s harvest time here in England, and the farmers have been busy in the fields around the village. Mostly I’ve come across the fields showing only the aftermath of their activity, though I have been lucky enough to catch sight of them in action on a few occasions.

Bailing Hay


10 thoughts on “Harvest

    1. I’ve been choked by the dust thrown up by tractors on the lanes around the village several times recently, though luckily I’ve not yet been stuck behind one when driving to work! I’m glad you liked the poem, Ali. 🙂

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