"The harvest is great, and the laborers are few."
Golden wind caresses golden wheat,
bows to golden sunlight.
Brown hands, shining gold in the sunlight
caress the golden wheat.
The basket is woven of golden grasses.
A brown hand burns in the golden sunlight.
Delicate fingers, petite wrist
stretch, squeeze, scrape along the wheat;
all that hands can accomplish;
weak hands, they can work.
Slender white fingers, sparkling with rings
caress ivory keys, music-crafters.
Delicate wrists and soft fingers, weak
and beautiful, transparent, stretch
to the golden wheat, invisible under the golden sun.
Starting up on Substack
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I've started to move my writing over to Substack, an app I've been reading
for years. I'll try to still post here but I wanted to invite you to
subscr...
8 months ago