Promptly 4 and 5

Wheatfield

Wheatfield

The ripened wheat waves in the autumn sun
but to whom does it wave? Goodbye to growth,
of course, but who stops to view it? Just the one,
and that’s to thee, a last farewell, a final oath
of service ‘fore the reaper’s blade, fresh sharpened,
descend to lay these golden sheaves in silent rows
obedient to earth. And so the miller’s heartened,
winnowed grain be crushed beneath the grinding stone,
and transformed now to sacks of powdered white,
ruddy faces pale with dust tote flour to the carts
which, creaking now with burden piled on high,
bring bounty of the field and mill to baker’s waiting arts.
Then the mix, the knead, the prove, and so unto the fire,
in searing heat these seeds of grass become the bread
that fills our hungry bellies. So our numbers ever higher
do teem to fill the world, new generations bred.

The ripened wheat waves in the sun,
it waves to you of course;
your servant now that it is done,
content to be our source.


Line count: 20
Rhymed abab
For Promptly Poetry Challenge, Week 7 2023
Prompt: As per illustration.