Occasional Impressions

The Harvest of the Muse

Bare lies the earth

Bare lies the earth
shorn of its summer fruitfulness.
Black birds plunder
where ploughs have carved deep wounds across the field.
Bare lies my heart
entranced in awesome wonderment:
how great the bounty that our God has given.

Deep cuts the chill
of autumn’s misty morning song.
Thick fall the leaves
upon the sun-parched field.
Deep my foreboding
at the approaching reckoning
when winter‘s searing frosts my weakness shall reveal.

Green springs the promise
of the approaching harvest time.
Darkness and cold
may, for a season, hide the shooting wheat,
yet bright is my hope
and shining is my joyfulness,
for Christ my sin will purge, and raise me safe, complete.
J.J.Davidson

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