Gleaning Poem by Bill Cantrell

Gleaning

Rating: 5.0


Poetry is a garden grand
Yet, at times it seems the ground is cursed,
As the trolls are the weeds infesting this good earth
When the rains come,
They greedily try to drink every drip
When the blazing heat strikes,
They give no shade but hide in between the lines
The sowers are the grand poets,
Plowing the soil with their glorious pens
And their labor does no go in vain,
For without fail the gleaners eagerly come,
Gathering the produce with joyful eyes,
Ignoring the weeds
For some weeds are not even worth pulling

Gleaning
Wednesday, August 26, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: poetry
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Tribute to the good poets who press on in spite of the weeds
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Susan Williams 05 September 2020

May we all press on in our endeavor to write better and better poetry and produce less and less weeds. A wise poem. my friend, but I have to admit there are an awful amount of weeds in my garden. 10

0 0 Reply
Sandra Feldman 26 August 2020

Very nice tribute. And you are right! Always the moochers ready to profit from what's authentic and fine. The low fruit on the vine. Yes, the truth should be told, no matter whose involved. I admire you for this well written and justly intended poem, Thanks, Bill.

0 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success