He thought of her,
Across a vast expanse,
As autumn turned to winter
On the plain
Her thoughts were jumbled,
Tumbled, in a dance —
To pull the truth from out of
All her pain
The harvest comes: it comes
When time is ripe,
When that which needs to grow
Has reached its goal
In quiet fields, beyond
The noise and hype,
The harvest comes, awakening
The soul
