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Saturday, 28 February 2015 15:39

husks

By 
'Reason is the Slave of the Passions XX' by Robyn Penn, Indian ink on book paper, courtesy Guns & Rain Art 'Reason is the Slave of the Passions XX' by Robyn Penn, Indian ink on book paper, courtesy Guns & Rain Art Guns & Rain Art, www.gunsandrain.com
we are the sons of farmers
the famine is what we fear
we hoe and plant and harvest
until the silos shear

the seasons hold us hostage
two score daily chores
while yet we pack the rafters
of our overflowing stores

the great drums of our fathers
beat portents in our ears
a time to plough, a time to plant
tasks for every time of year

for who can resist the harvest
the tilling, husking and sowing
those who neglect their summer tasks
shall starve when it is snowing

and yet the dribbling chore-filled hours
leave desolate the mythic halls
for those who need to paint the world
on dazzling cavern walls

and chant the wonder of all of life
from dawn to dusk, for all our days
but we are sons of farmers
and there is corn to raise




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