His Harvest

Windswept waves of amber

swaying in the goldenrod intoxicating

within the touch of the mill's long afternoon shadow.

 

It stands in silent vigil

over the tales of autumn gold,

where a gentle being honored nature's essence

by tenderly turning the wheat's harvest

into flour used to feed both heart and soul.

 

Taking a portion of every labor

to give to those in need.

His wife would often bake fresh bread

from the kitchen behind the mill,

the smell inviting and freely shared

just like the love they had for all.

 

Each day brought the sight of ardor's passion,

sacks of flour sitting on the dock,

sounds of grindstone grounding the grains

amid the joyful farmer's voices

who came to have their crop

transformed into something marketable.