Jefferson County Harvest Poem by JDC LeDrew

I know you've made your weary way
Through evening stubble fields
Where brown earth wears a golden crown.
You've steered the combine
To cut grain down at the thigh.

And run your hand through your hair,
Felt it thick with the sweat and dust of the season.
I know you've rolled your tongue 'cross gritty teeth
And teared the chaff from weeping eyes.

I've seen your arms burned brown like the summer soil
And your lips blistered from the sun.
I know your shoulders ached and your neck protested
To hold up your head, come evening time.

When the sun dwindled down like a candle,
And red flames smoldered from behind far buttes,
When you slumped back against the combine tire,
I've seen you find contentment there, cradled by the earth.

Oh, cousin and good friend,
I know you know, the degree of weariness
That this season of labor
Brings to a man.

And on some burning harvest days
No doubt the thought must cross your mind,
To trade such tiresome tasks
For other ways and toils and trails,
So I'll assure you here;

That the seasons of my life have seen
So many other works far less honest,
Than those of a strong man
Sweating in his crops from the field.