The place for writers: Upload your writing in minutes, receive peer feedback from other writers, poets, authors, then get your work published out there in the real world. Learn how other writers are doing it.
There were some days the farmer cried
As he scattered seed along the furrows
With the cold wind
Whipping against his face
Stinging his eyes
His clothes flapping in the wind
But
Still
He would plod along
The furrows of the land
Sometimes rocky
Sometimes grand
Sometimes dry
Sometimes muddy
Working and wading
Plodding along
There were days when the farmer would smile
The world seemed wide
A fantasy spinning on a carousel
He seemed to scatter the seed far and wide
All around him
There were days when the farmer would plant
Weary, suspicious
Desperate for a harvest
For a change in season
All his life poured out in the seed sown
A sacrifice of life itself
To finally truly live
But amidst these rhythms
The same is still true
What can a farmer do?
But sow
There are still days when the farmer
Is troubled
Weighed down
With answers unmatched to inexplicable problems
Yet still he sows
Along the furrows
Of the land
Sometimes sad
Sometimes grand
Trusting in a harvest
That will come
Just at the right time
Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...
Thansk Kevin, but you are the real poet here. I haven't read anyone as technical and emotive as you in poetry. I am not a preacher not even a textbook christian. Keep listening I do at least always have lots to say.
I bet you're a preacher Selina, am I right? Each of your poems - especially this one - is like a perfect parable. This is the best sermon I've read in many a long year. I can just picture the children gathered around you, hanging on to your every word (and the adults too - I would certainly listen). You're a fantastic poet, Selina.
