The harvest
is full
But no one
to pull in the catch
Has anyone
prepared the barns?
The three of
us are still afield
So far away
from home
But so full
we`re bursting and exploding
At sunset,
when the maestro arrives feeling eerie
Perhaps we
shall seize the wooden drums
And then
start pounding them
Or perhaps we
shall say a prayer or two
Who knows?
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