The Poetry Harvest

The seeds are planted 

Starting with a tiny grain

Uncertain as to what the end will gain

The furrows are dug

Later events to be allowed 

Not much of a crowd 

But maybe we should be proud 

The machines brought in 

Hopefully not much to be put into the bin

In the end the harvester machines will choose 

Preferably not many of us will lose

We will keep trying our hardest 

During the poetry harvest