A Field Poem by Rich Harney

A field murmured, I heard it's bitter sigh,
My bonnets blue have learned their worst today,
The bobolink and bees have gone away
And I bereft and full of tears and why?

Cruel men with blades and giant metal things
Have come to tear my green my gold my red,
To make of something beautiful as dead
And all their wicked hearts and wicked stings.

And what will the meadowlark do without?
They've paved my paths with some protrude of oil
And blistered every brook and tree and soil
And now mywinged lovers flit and doubt.

How will my black dirt rise and breathe again?
How will my good earth give the happy air?
Will men not render me a simple care?
I cry unto the heavens; tell me when!

R. Harney