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A Poem for the Season

"The grain is reaped and threshed and gone,
And only the stubble remaining now;
And there in a great field tramps a team
And a man is riding a plow.

Over and over the long rows lift,
Sweet smelling and moist, and brown,
The damp earth turned to the wind and sun,
And the stubble gold turned down.

Something there is of Faith that shines
Over a field of an autumn day;
Something of trust and of steadfast hope,
Follows a plowman's way.

Faith in the year that is to come,
Trust in the Giver of sun and rain,
Hope that up from the torn dark rows
There shall spring other grain."

Grace Noll Crowell


Ron Mylar said…
As seasons are keep on changing then the poem which is made totally suits the truth. I also have lot of interest in the poems. And the rhymes are also very nice.