deepundergroundpoetry.com
Souvenirs Of A Summer Field
in the summer's quiet afternoon
oh ! i sigh, the flat fields lie
golden, under a waning summer sun
and the harvest, an hour past, done..
in the dead silence of the twilight
a hush among the left crops is heard
a bird seeks a grain before the night
before the dark spreads a ghostly shade
the silent harvester now, a dead mass
standing amid a golden sea of grass
a dead corpse among a living crop
hay stacks piled or scattered and sparse
nothing is left for random, or further use
everything serves for right use not abuse
summer shines, burns, slashes the skin
and ripens, feeds, and harbours the fields
gives the grasshopper; a place to hop and live
and the cicada; a choir to sing his summer blues
Published 6th Jun 2024
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