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...THE FLOWER BOAT by ROBERT FROST AUTUMN MORNING AT CAMBRIDGE by FRANCES CROFTS DARWIN CORNFORD EPITAPH UPON A CHILD THAT DIED by ROBERT HERRICK IN ENVY OF COWS by JOSEPH AUSLANDER A DAISY FROM THE PARTHENON by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES JENNIE HARRIS OLIVER by THERESA DRULEY BLACK |