Drifting away with the breeze,
golden, green and brown,
maize, wheat, rice and corn,
glided merrily from the farms.
The Family, their parents, the pioneer
hard-working farmers rejoice,
as they can hear the crops'
most cheerful and dancing noise.
She, the daughter who owns the farm,
she, who started the Green Plans,
that farmer maiden, so beautiful and bright,
she had constellations in her eyes.
The mother, the crops' Grandmother,
She held them close to her bosom,
She thanked the Lord for blessing
their labor of hard long toil.
Praise also, the sacred cows, the poultry
and the royally living horses,
taken care of, so well, by her
husband, the daughter's partner.
At Harvest time, they all did see,
what glory nature brings.
What hard tossing in the sun,
sweating and tiredness yields.
After months of endless care,
the farm sparkled with bounty.
It is beautiful, for it resulted,
from hands of gold working in the fields.
Though childless couple they were called,
their children were the crops and trees.
Their loving watch over the cattle,
horses and merry geese.
With Tears and hearts of stone,
with icy hands and shivering bones,
they carried out the gruesome task,
of cutting off the Harvest.
This really was the hardest part.
The Farmer Maiden showed all Men,
that farms prosper even under Women.
The Crops were bestowed with Prayers,
their proud souls caressed by God.
YOU ARE READING
A Warrior's Songs
Poesía"I believe that Poetry is the aesthetic act; that poetry is not the poem, for the poem may be nothing more than a series of symbols. Poetry, I believe, is the poetic act that takes place when the poet writes it, when the reader reads it, and it alwa...
