Amber Wheat

By
More by this author
The Heart of the heartland,
Is no town or person,
It is the amber wheat.

It sways in the prairie wind,
The life of the heartland,
The food of the world.

Underneath the golden Sun,
It stretches on forever more,
The soul of the Heartland,

Until comes the fall,
It lives and grows,
But then the ground must give up its fruit.

The heartland dies without its grain,
And winter comes to the barren land,
Until the next spring,
And the return of the amber wheat.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback