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.
-
Author:
Jabberwocky (
Offline) - Published: October 20th, 2017 05:50
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 42
Offline)
Comments1
Hope is always there and with good planting and care in its growing will flower into glory.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.