wheat DSCN4416

I don’t see fields of ripened corn
in my daily life
Reapers belong to yesteryear
And combine harvesters do not cross
my street
Yet I still see signs of harvest
Boxes of apples on garden walls
Neighbours sharing their bounty
with passers by
Lord of the harvest, accept whatever we have to offer as tokens of gratitude for all the good gifts you heap on us.