by Rev. Dr. Daniel C. Wilburn
Silence! Be Silent!
The silent rustling of the cold winter stalks
Left trussed upon the frozen clods.
Whispering their memories of bygone summer days
Rain, dark storms, morning dew, heat
Blue and green, brown and black
“Yellow Face to gladden my veins!” say they.
all for nothing
Where is the joy of the harvest?
Who comes with sheaves abounding
And a song on their lips?
The corn stalks stand as totems to an
Earlier promised prosperity
But we stole it, sold it, abused those
Precious gifts: land and soil,
The fertile rows of humanity – children, men and women.
And I, O Lord, yes I, myself ignore them like a Lazarus
And threw them away in the inner city,
Speaking to myself: ‘why won’t the government do something?’
Warm bed, plenty of food, shelter and laughter.
But those still white stalks stand rustling their memories, a lament,
“What has become of our basket of fruit?”
by Brother Dancha 2010 (Amos 8)