The Harvest
Under the sun, there is nothing new
A time for everything
Each field planted, then the harvest
For Thanksgiving and the winter’s need
Each one born, then a death
Taken up for a greater feast
Banqueting now with the King
Our dad planted and harvested
He was born and now has passed
Let’s celebrate his feast in heaven
And prepare to join him with joy
Each in our own time
Ripe and ready for harvest
~ by Sue DeSha
In The Hands of the Refiner 