Old Midday Sun
OLD MIDDAY SUN
Blatant heat smothers from
The lengthening day, and, fear-
Shaking in tattered rags,
They linger in listless agony.
An old midday sun has risen up,
Showering its crimson fury
On fields, open with imagined blooms,
As calloused hands toil
In blood-streaked sweat,
Yet no sign of righteous
Crosses or markers for
Perpetual remembrance, witnessing
The courage of futile sacrifice.
Hardened soil is become
Sacred earth, where the yield
Of bitter grief lies ungathered.
Copyright © Bill Drayton | Year Posted 2022
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