Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Poem: The Cold Fields

The Cold Fields

Lined like soldiers,
like graves,
the tiny stalks of summer corn
line up in the snow,
straw men in perfect rows, yet
in their perfection, a certain kind of death,
black and still, void
of the wild green fronds,
the dancing tassles of summer, void
of the sweet white corn, void

except for those who know God's secret,
that there is no death,
that life and love can be planted anew,
harvested anew,
and the cold fields of death
can dance again,
wild in the summer sun.


The picture was taken along the road to Pawlet, a few miles from my house. You can click on it for a larger version.



gingerhillery@mac.com said...

Perhaps my favorite of your poems?

Derrick said...

Hi Tom,

Now, this one I like a lot!