05 August 2010

Imperfect Prose - Prairie Fields

I travel slow
gravel roads kicking up thick dust
only hours after rain

faster on the highway
the fields surround me
swirling in colours
turning toward harvest

God Who called this one
from darkness to light;
from strip malls, concrete, steel;
from the suburban sprawl
of midwestern America;
to find home at last
on this Canadian prairie

speaks in a hush
that screams in my spirit
as the farmers drop their sweat
upon the soil

"there is more than eyes can see
a greater harvest still to come"

Then I saw a white cloud, and seated on the cloud was someone like the Son of Man. He had a gold crown on his head and a sharp sickle in his hand. Then another angel came from the Temple and shouted to the one sitting on the cloud, “Swing the sickle, for the time of harvest has come; the crop on earth is ripe.” Revelation 14:14-15




Join Emily at In the Hush of the Moon for Imperfect Prose on Thursdays






11 comments:

Jingle said...

love the quote in the end.
beautiful write.

Ruth said...

I really liked this, loved

...speaks in a hush
that screams in my spirit


I grew up on the Canadian prairie...

Melissa | Madabella: made beautiful said...

came over from imperfect prose and this is so beautiful...

emily wierenga said...

oh, i agree with ruth... loved 'speaks in a hush that screams in my spirit'... this captivated me and made me long for Him. beautiful. thank you so much for linking up, dear friend...

joanny said...

Beautiful poem and the ending is powerful.

Joanny

from Emilys

Billy Coffey said...

That was beautiful.

A Simple Country Girl said...

I have a few similar images I snapped the other day too.

Wonderful transition from your poetic words to His.

Blessings.

Sandra Heska King said...

Oh, I love this!

A hush that screams . . .

emmalynn said...

so often I take his creation for granted, grumbling and complaining, but why? he is the painter of all painters and we've been invited to see his gallery. lovely picture

Claudia said...

...as the farmers drop their sweat upon the soil...was my favorite line in your beautiful poem

Southern Gal said...

Your words make me long to see the prairies.

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