Harvest time again.

The field is overburdened.

Sweating in the noonday sun,

we reap the spoils.

Harvest time again.

Calloused hands,

run through rich soil.

Caressing our great blessings.

Harvest time again.

We work through the day.

Not even stopping for lunch.

Eagerly we plow on.

Harvest time again.

We reach the newly fermented.

Sifting through the dirt,

the elder purses her lips.

Harvest time again.

Not nearly as much as last year.

The pile of white,

only half as high as before.

Harvest time again.

The elder sends us out.

Honey for the flies,

Setting the bait for next season.

Harvest passed.

The Elder reminisces,

on days of the past.

When we didn’t have to hunt.

When the land overflowed,

with the bones of traveling salesmen.