deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Sickle

   
      
A sickle in the antique shop    
ash-wood handle split and loose    
cast aside, it gave us bread,    
more than  sword or axe ,    
swung by women and children,  
by men between the wars,    
  .  .  .  .rarely fought in autumn.    
Russians have it on their flag    
flying with the hammer .   .   .   .
no guns on the blood red standard.    
Here it lies, leaning on the wall    
going for six pound fifty.    
Stay awhile and doff your hat    
to the labourer who swung this blade,    
once bright and sharp  .  .  .  .  .  .  . . . .    
blacksmith, fire and  sweat,    
Each night, set beside the kitchen door    
heavy boots, clip rug on the floor,    
children round the table,      
fresh baked bread and soup,    
praying for the sun tomorrow.
Written by Kexby (john rickell)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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