Harvest Time

Row upon row standing in a line
Growing in perfect uniformity
Full grown in utter beauty
The reapers must be a sign

The scythes swing again
Bringing the plants down low
Preparing the fields for in spring to sow
it is the plants time to reckon

The harvest ritual continues
Year after year it occurs
The ritual changes as antiquity obscures
The growing requires it dues

On the autumnal equinox
They come from far around
Before they start you hear no sound
To disregard the day is to get a pox

The circle spins so rapidly
Twisting around the burning fire
The chanting sounds so very dire
The people dance quite madly

Paying their dues
Appeasing their gods
Fearing the justing of their might rods
Hoping the ritual will amuse

As the fire burns low
And the last rows are taken in
Man knows it is again time to begin
For now the fields are fallow

Now that fall is done
And the snow draws near
All the man knows is fear
As he hopes and prays for the future and the sun


by

William R. Thomas