Cornucopia

Cornfields sway in the gently blowing breeze Out in those golden hills right there in the haze; Rustic silos keeping up with harvests spilling, Nooks and corners to the brim overflowing. Until sundown from the morn’s faint early glow, Carts of wheat on beastly shoulders come and go; Oh, the infinite abundance in God’s great domain, Plains and valleys singing their joyful refrain. Intriguing that despite the earth’s limitless bounty, Apocalyptic hunger remains in man’s destiny.