Harvest Song Poem by Lori Hershberger

Oh, I must go down to the fields again
Through the shimmer of summer heat
And wade through the waves of deepening gold
The oceans of ripening wheat
Then I'll stand on the edge where the grass still grows
Green by the amber shore
And feast my eyes with a fierce wild joy
For the harvest is once more!

Oh, I must go to where the sky is pinned
To the earth like an up-turned bowl
Where the hot wind sighs its searing breath
Against my face and I'll feed my soul
By the wide expanse of dying wheat
That moves and ripples and flies
And sings the song of my native blood
Harvest beneath the Kansas skies!