Bread For Tomorrow

Cathedral skies
Vault above swaying
Heads of wheat and rye
Oats and corn
Sighing into August winds.

Boys on bikes
Race along cracked asphalt
While toads and cicadas
Add bass and tenor
To the hymn of hours.

Fields cool
As the western fire falls.
High in purple towers
Night descends
Like royalty on a staircase.

Hush, ye grains.
Be still, ye stalks.
Bow your heads and sleep.
Scythes and mill stones are coming.
Ovens are warming
That ye might be bread for tomorrow.