An Allegory of the Wheatfield

by

Violette Kuly

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New wheat sprouted out of black earth.
Young and green, smiling at the sun.
Straight as sticks, even tho' winds blow fierce,
                           They are undone.

Higher and higher grows the wheat,
Slowly turning from green to beige,
Standing tall and spindly as a sprout,
         Empty heads swaying about.

Grown wheat beaten by the sun
Becomes a beauty of a gold field.
Not so defiant now, heads mature with sensibility,
         Heavy, bowing in deep humility.

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