The wheat cannot hear my apologies
Trembling with fear and dry confusion
Jacob looks for his wise father and sees
Divinely mad Abraham’s conclusion
I watched light and water and dark, rich soil
Teach these plants to bravely become themselves
No longer peasants, to me, they’re royal
The stories of their lives on my mind’s shelves
I heard them gossiping about the wind
I watched them wave goodbye to scratching drought
They whispered secrets to me, and I grinned
The keen edge of my blade, I do not doubt
Autumn makes a murderer out of me
In their fall, my growing daughters I see
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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