Haystack Pride

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From the tender green
to the golden stack,
memories of the dreamy calls of
our sprinkler-lady, pivoted,
arms stretched across the pasture,
diligent irrigation, all through
the days of miserable heat,
spirit of a tough matriarch,
redolent alfalfa and grass, quiet
submission to be harvested,
stars count as our stacks grow.
Summed up in one mound, we
dream of our rebirth in the circle
of time, purposeful, reciprocal,
the late-greens for winter
wanderers. Natural order abided.

By Byung A. Fallgren

6 thoughts on “Haystack Pride

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