mutterings

voices hard to hear are singing now
in harmonies and rythms born of sighs
the farmer keeps his head turned to the plow
the horses plotting sweating getting by
an orange brilliant dawn is holding steady
a frosty morning air steams from his hair
clanging bells of worship ring all is ready
his constant callused hands are chapped and bare
"hold him to his whispers" says the secret
"seal his lips his truth from uttering
humm into his head and let them set
the chants of memories their lonely mutterings"

the farmer presses his determination
listening to his melodies damnation

suddenly his horses stall and rear
the plow jumps from his hands and races on
the farmer faced in muddy ground can hear
the droning of the fairies siren song
he moans beneath his aging dissapointment
the crop he sows must plant this very eve
why did he deserve such rude annointment
must he show his heartach as he grieves
he rises from the earth a ghostly figure
crying from the bowels of agony
his voice it seems is rising so much bigger
than the farmers prayers can fairly see

he rises to his feet he's sorely shaken
knowing all he has is almost taken


a light appears he knows not if he sees it
in his mind or is it really there
beatific vision fills his presence
holding him with loving tender care
"remember that this day of hardship passes
the universal door will soon swing wide
all that you are suffering all harasses
will disappear and peace will then abide"
the farmer turns his head to this great blessing
his manor and demeanor ease their pain
his breath comes softly to his healing resting
his body covered with warm gentle rain

the heavens open to quiet knowing
crops spring up the earth gives way to growing