Poetry

by Samuel Campbell


Number One

The long, dark field
of earth
stretched on
forever …
In the far distance,
a single wheat stalk
danced in the wind;
the sole survivor of the earth’s reaping.

The Harvest

For many years he had sowed seeds
In many kinds of soil
Now as his silver hair
Waves in the breeze,
He plants his last row.
He says, “I may not
Be here when the crops
Are gathered in, so tell me
In the spring,
Was it a good harvest?”