Listen to poem:
That Seems Strange
A murder of crows observes our approach,
eying my sister's sheaf, worn like a brooch.
Yet, this gilded field of wavering gold
is quite a wonder for me to behold!
This is the first time I've helped harvest grain;
the breezes are warm, with no chance of rain.
And under a pale blue sky, work feels fun,
I love it here in the light of the sun.
I hear the giggles that all sisters share,
but something I see makes me stop and stare.
I see a circle pressed into the wheat,
and I'm puzzled by what's under my feet.
My sisters don't stop working, that seems strange,
then laughter follows a heated exchange.
It turns out it's a nest flattened by deer,
not an alien crop circle; oh dear.
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