Harvester

I spent a long time watching
The harvesters of pain.
I watched them travel down the rows,
I watched them back again.
I saw the bushels stacking,
Of black and sour grain,
And knew I'd sown my love;
All, and nought did gain

It's time again for planting,
My stock of seed is low.
I look upon the fields,
Each dark and loam rich row.
It becomes a man to prosper,
And risk to make it so,
And put despair behind him;
Plant hope and make it grow.