Harvester

fogglethorpe

The sandy wash affords no aid,
and Shadow Mountain grants no shade-
there's nothing any man may trade
for mercy from the August sun.

Amid the fallen leaves of jade,
our bodies scorched, our patience frayed,
with ample effort we persuade
ourselves the summer's nearly done.

This valley's endless cavalcade
of pioneers in masquerade
will find, despite advances made,
the West was never really won.

Copyright © 2012 by Hugh Lemma- All rights reserved

fogglethorpe

I was not sure about the title at first. Though this was not written from the perspective of farm workers, I think the connection works pretty well.

This is now in the finished section. Comments still welcome.

wordsmithwannabe

i like this. and i especially like that each stanza can stand on its own but that combined they really sparkle. the title works well, too; it leads the reader down a presupposed path but lets you draw your own conclusion in the end. i suppose that we are all harvesters in some fashion or other...

nicely done.

abdo11

what a fantastic poem u have written