Grown over time
Left for this time
Full moon sky shines on the blade
Tis harvest time says the harvester
Aye says his mate
Hands held tightly about the right angle
Angst for sun up
He eyes the fields
Slowly walking toward the ground he laid
Laid when the lands were ready to receive
His mate watches on as the blade rises
Twinkling the reflection of the moon
Swoop, swoop, swoop...
The sound goes off into the distance
Until nothing more is heard
Hours pass before the cock crows
Announcing the rise of sun
Not seeing him
His mate goes into the cut
Where the night had seen the sickle
Not before long he was found
Found amongst the wheat
The sickle planted
Grounding it in such a way
The harvester held to it
Held to it by the wheat around his neck
So tight was its grip
His blue face protruded a swollen tongue
While his blank eyes stared skybound
The full moon warned him so in her twinkle
Never reap before dawn ~ Maggie ~ January 5, 2009 @ 6:54 p.m. EST
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