HARVEST by GERTRUDE RYDER BENNETT

He spoke of harvest, pointed to the field
Where shocks of corn stood boldly in the sun.
The earth was kind to give such lavish yield.
Against the barn were pumpkins piled, each one
A golden promise. Peppers strung and dried
Were red as flame. He took a farmer's pride
In heavy apple trees. He knew the soil.
How well it paid him for a summer's toil!

He spoke of harvest time. She smiled and yet
She hardly heard him. She was gazing where
The children played, a frolicking quartet
Of curls and rompers, and a grateful prayer
Came to her heart. She saw the meaning of
The harvest, felt the strength of boundless love,
Of answered faith. Four children hard at play --
She smiled and brushed a happy tear away.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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