The Reaper Poem by Rolland Heiss

Death has raised his sickle high
The winds prepare for chaff to fly
Life in death, the grain sustains
The hungry children from the plains

Plains that rest in golden hues
Beneath a shroud of greys and blues
Your old shall shout in loud lament
The young give thanks for blessings sent

Life walks 'neath the harvest moon
Regretting death has come so soon
Yet knows the circle is complete
The young advance, the old retreat

Mem'ries now are all he holds
Of wind blown fields in browns and golds
For every seed that broke the ground
Returns to dust and can't be found

Aye, can't be found, save in the blood
Of those who count on fertile mud
And all the amber waves of grain
Were sacrificed for mortal gain

Death is naught but love of life
For though he swings his sickle knife
It is the living he sustains
While freeing souls from earthly chains
And freeing fields for springtime rains...

© 2002