The Accuser and the Wheat

The accuser of the brethren came stealthily with scythe and dye,

Bow now! he said with this breath of ash,

Alas! He struck and the wheat bleeds crimson and die,

And thro’ the dye he faked wounded with a slash;

The wheat stooped but deeply rooted with the tide,

The crucifer grinned and climaxed in front of the sire;

He accused again with a flirty wind of pride;

Let’s burn his stalk, he said with a fire;

The Sire nodded and said not in my eyes;

The leaves are yours but the root is not for thee;

The wheat heaved to the opinion of the wise,

Mother Earth whispered, ‘i will nurture thine fibrous feet to a tree’,

The sage pleaded for a truce and not much.

Howbeit thou bury a dust on the urge at thy please?

Gloatingly he strutted, and that’s the end of such.

For eternity, the tree is at bliss.

My Poetry Diary