Harvest
When warmed by inspiration's sun,
I take my favorite tool, my pen,
and plough a careful furrow through
the rich, deep soil of thought.
With eagerness I plant a row
of words, and watch them bud and grow,
then marvel at the miracle
that God and I have wrought!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
