God will not let my field lie fallow. The ploughshare is sharp, the feet of his oxen are heavy; They hurt. But I cannot stay God from His ploughing, I, the lord of the field. While I stand waiting, His shoulders loom upon me from the mist, He has gone past me down the furrow, shouting a song. (I had said, it shall rest for a season. The larks had built in the grass ...) He will not let my field lie fallow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: THE VERDICT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 3. THAILALND by KAREN SWENSON THE FACE ON THE [BAR-ROOM] FLOOR by HUGH ANTOINE D'ARCY UNCROWNED by ALFRED GOLDSWORTHY BAILEY THE TOWN OF DON'T-YOU-WORRY by I. J. BARTLETT |