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Post  WARRIOR on Mon 01 Nov 2010, 6:09 pm

True fruit matured
the golden sheaves
weighed down do bough
Soon they shall be harvested.

Singly we are cut off
returned to our Maker
the fields grow pale
little does remain.

The winter white magnifies
a piece of golden straw
alone blowing in the wind
This soon to be plucked.

Nothing goes to waste
the Raven lines its nest
each element serves a purpose
for which it was created.


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great parallel

Post  fennywest on Wed 17 Nov 2010, 4:37 pm

wonderful parallel you have painted and woven within imagery

thoroughly enjoyed



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