Harvesting

(written circa 1965)

They went unto the fields
That noon
Before the gathering of hay
And lying languidly
Between the bales and burrows
And the stubble
Communed with saintly grasshoppers
In pilgrimaging
And the woodchucks prayed
In their shrill whistling.

They went unto the barn
That musty evening,
Among the hallowed rafters
And ratdroppings,
And the solitary windows
Were stain-glassed
For the flyspots
And the dust.

And, and in hand,
They walked into the dawn,
Along the well-worn path,
To call the cows to milking,
"Cobassie, cobassie, cobassie..."
In chorus, softly chanting,
And the dung-filled pond
Was tranquil
In their passing.

- Sitaram