Harvest Poem by Ravenend Frost

In wee hours does he awake daily;
Walking down the frosty path,
Beyond the village to the fields of barley,
To harvest the crop ‘neath the Hills of Goliath.

Overlooked by the mighty silhouettes
And darkest sky with a tinge of blue;
His scythe hacks the wetted spikelets
As dawn breaks to clear the hue.

The rustling ears fall to the moist earth,
And he gathers the golden seeds,
This is wealth that for him is worth,
For that is all his family needs.

His day ends with a cascade of task,
‘Til the Goliath shadows mask
The barley fields sway on the wintry night,
And he rests his body on bed in delight.

In wee hours does he awake everyday,
To harvest ‘neath the Goliath the Gray;
For us a new day may be gallant and gay,
But for him it’s just like any other day.