Tall ripening grain is such a thrilling sight: Rich undulating waves of ripening wheat Fills beauty-loving souls with keen delight While sky and field on far horizons meet. A bird goes winging by in lonely flight, A breeze weaves patterns of the quivering heat, It bends the lush grain from its sturdy height Then passes on with whispers of defeat. When evening comes to soften brazen light, When shining field and setting sun compete, When moonlight steals across the shades of night It paints a picture, perfect and complete. When man, through sod and nature, weaves a thread The finished product means his country's bread. |