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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.

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