Beyond the gold-fringed day
And shadows obtuse tusk
‘Neath misty scarves of silver-gray
Lies the field at dusk
A thread of centuries
Is layered in its palm
Time’s ruthless progress cannot steal
Its effervescent calm
I pause to contemplate
The measure of our toil
Swift season over season laid
With faith that plants the soil
And here the lark returns
To tune the summer dust
And here the brawny farmer learns
Of hope and tears and trust
And here the young maid strolls
Her eye a-light with dreams
And here the silent night consoles
The heart where sorrow gleams
And here the bully day
Releases its duress
And here we humbly kneel to pray
In tender thankfulness
Beyond the gold-fringed day
Midst sighs of dew and musk
Heaven is not so far away
In a field at dusk
Janet Martin
Your farmer's heart is displayed. Vivid similes early on blend into the repeating words: "And here the." You play that so effectively as we see that field at dusk through so many different eyes.
ReplyDeleteI debated on the 'and here the'...but nothing else seemed to fit what I was feeling. Thank-you so much, as always.
ReplyDeleteMy husband has such a love & appreciation for the land... when we were dating he took me out in his tractor while working up the ground in Spring. He said, "Don't you just love the smell of the soil?" I've seen him walk through fields of corn, gently touching the leaves. There is something special about farming ~ and farmers. I do believe in his eyes, 'Heaven is not so far away in a field at dusk...'
ReplyDeleteMegan, Your husband is a true farmer! I grew up on a dairy farm, we still live in farming country, so I relate to 'country-thinking'.
ReplyDeleteAnd you said it! There is something special about farming and farmers!