There’s thunder in the sky,
the sickle flashes by.
As I hurry to cut down the corn.I reap with a happy sigh,
as swift swallows fly.
The field must be done by Sunday morn.I’ve struggled and hoped,
clinging to a frayed rope.
Until roots took hold, new futures were born.
Now I’ve got to be bold, leave behind what I’ve been told.Forget about the lonely tears I weeped.
As I reap the dreams that I have sown.The harvest moon glow,
when I life changes sow.
As I sing beneath the sickle moon.I’ll rise above my woes,
when the change of seasons blows.
As I dance scy-clad to her freeing tune.Forget about the lonely tears I weeped.
As I reap the dreams that I have sown.I’ve sown the seeds,
that my soul will free.
Time to harvest them just like the corn.I’ve learnt to know my needs,
to my muses feed.
Now let creativity my life adorn.I’ve struggled and hoped,
clinging to a frayed rope.
Until roots took hold, new futures were born.
Now I’ve got to be bold, leave behind what I’ve been told.Forget about the lonely tears I weeped.
As I reap the dreams that I have sown.As I reap the dreams that I have sown.
©RedCat

Written for earthweal’s weekly challenge: LAMMAS. I was so inspired by the song in the prompt, a 14th century song about the death and rebirth of the barley crop (video below), that I had to write one of my own.
Of sowing and reaping, growing and weeping, of dreams becoming reality.
Photo credits:
Sickle moon – Photo by Mitchell Bowser on Unsplash
Corn Field – Photo by Nadine Redlich on Unsplash
This is really beautiful, Helene: sometimes we must water our dreams with tears.
The work saves us, somehow — how partial and incomplete we would be without getting out to work the sheaves and write our poems. – B
For all there is to disturb a heart and mind these days, the trees I walk under always breeze with this hope, this prayer fulfilled by greater skies.
So much courage and hope and yes in these lines. May your dreams set root and grow magnificently.