Dustbowl Pavane;
in which the wheat dances
The wind begins, a breath, a sigh,
blades bend, wheat whispers brow to brow.
Clay cracks, green browns, the voices die.
The wind begins, a breath, a sigh.
The dustbound seed is born to fly,
turned up beneath a burning plow.
The wind begins, a breath, a sigh,
blades bend, wheat whispers brow to brow
March 2011
A second triolet to pair with last week's, found here.
Posted for Form Monday, Triolets Part II, at the inimitable One Stop Poetry
Photo: prairie grass blowing, by joy ann jones, 2010
