Respite for the Remnant

For The Workers Late in the Field

Do not forsake your furrows,

for wheat is nigh to mills,

tares are fruitless still,

and merchants wait their tills.

Do not abandon harvest,

though sky is bruised with storm,

though winds sweep up the branches,

and rain in torrents forms.

Don’t fret to hear the mockingbird,

discourager or cad,

or noisome howling spirits,

your pain just makes them glad.

But know the night is close,

the owner, riding fast

to see your face at twilight

and gather in at last.

*Original posting here: for-the-workers-late-in-the-fields-1.pdf Revised here. I may be inspired to feature other poems from this collection, to likely also edit, in my ongoing efforts to be some kind of poet. Be merciful.