I stand before the shallow field

I stand before the shallow field

And whisper to the dawn

And see the sunlight burst to life

Before the rabid storm

The squalling winter’s day precludes

The swallow form her nest

And drowns the harvest yet to yield

And wakens moonlight’s rest

It ought not be so (or one might think) –

It ought be time to reap

When silent whisper heard aloud

And hunger’s gone to sleep

What of a life where yonder breaks –

(The window opened wide)

That may foretell the casting spell

And push rejoice aside

Then stoicism comes to pass

And brings hope to the field

As brown as Hell – be green again

Inviting greatest yield

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