Poem: The Harvest

 

The Harvest

The hour is come
and except a corn
of wheat falls and dies,
it abides alone.
But how long and hard
the falling can be!
How rough the landing!
How deafening the
sound of the impact!
People say when God
closes a door he’ll
open a window.
Well, what kind of sick
god wants to make you
crawl through a window?
Some things are just meant
to break your poor heart.

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