The Hallowed Harvest

From its pillowy overlay, the Sun emerges Bright saturized yellow, ultraviolet rays, Enough to burn and blind and sting, glances down on mankind, To see what they got up to during the night. A peasant family, with seeds in hand Plants them across a barren land Sowing their hopes, their dreams in soil Awaiting a future of brilliant gold and oil, born out of hell-bent toil. The Matriarch of the family looks up at the sky Looks at the Sun square in the eye, holds her gaze,wills him to listen, to heed their solitary cries. A ripple of amber, a flare of bright light Somewhere a bud blossoms, somewhere a flower dies Somewhere someone takes their final breath,God sighs and rolls his dice The sun understands, he must grow the crops right. Fat drops burst from foreboding clouds, Whipped and thrashed the land on which young saplings sprout The Sun couldn't see, the clouds too thick The family prayed for their crops to stick. Early Summer, in the balmy heat The Sun climbed high in the sky Looked earthward, towards his favourite kind The family tilled and plucked and picked Filled woven wicker with bursting produce, The likes of which they could not predict. Rows and rows of rice and beans, Red oranges and collard greens Like liquid Gold the wheat field gleams, Ripening fruits with bursting seams Broad smiles and accomplished dreams It's time for the perennial Harvest to reign supreme. Another year, transpired and gone, Another harvest, picked and sown The Sun, with triumphant splendour Dazzling yet alone, rises on an orange morn. The youngest child of the family, shields his eyes Gazed at the sun and smiles, The sun reflects a twinkling shine. He knew the Sun was unruly, brazen and bright But just for a moment, the Sun was mine.