Poem: Harvest

 Harvest

“The harvest is great,

but the laborers are few.”

gather flowers while you can

before the night dawns

and the frost rises

out of the deep

the wind begins to whisper

down down

from the icy peak

in just a little while

it will blow inexorable

sweep the heads off the stalks of grain

carry them away 

into the endless distance

if you do not pluck them

gather them into the warm barn

to be dried

and laid beneath the blanket

eternal rest

and shelter

already the green of the leaves fades

the sunlight darkens

there is little time

run!

out through the fields

down into the valleys

the icy gorges

by which the smallest flower springs

pull it up

by the roots

whole and complete

carry it

to safety

in the house

the fire is burning

drying the air

warming

giving life

there

they will be preserved

forever

she will wear them in her hair

and place them in her crystal vases

about the hearth

thirsty, drinking up water

and light

the grain will be ground

hardened in the fiery furnace

and set in his presence

there to abide

forever

are you frightened?

do not let it stay you

do you not see the shadow at the window

the winged thing

whose breath is poison?

already they begin to wilt

the stalks lowering

the life draining

are you sorrowful?

then labor all the faster

do you not smell

the burning in the air?

they are coming

to kindle the fields

and the forests

salt the earth

reach down, down, down into its depths

pull out the little sprouted seeds

reserves of life

only beginning

bear them to the temple

do not grow weary

you have only a little while

to labor

for the night is coming

in which no man can work

then you will rejoice

Amen