A cold farmer sketched into <br />his fields before dawn... <br />stood gazing on his colors, <br />planted, left to their own. <br /> <br />Wheat from the chaff.... <br />Always, ever. <br /> <br />Harvest, new ideas... <br />what's this? <br />Wheat for bread... <br />chaff tossed away... <br />not today... <br /> <br />Had not chaff hulled, <br />protected infant kernels... <br />Housed, used for shelter, <br />enfolded from storms... <br />chaff is rained upon... <br />not golden, ripe wheat... <br />combined, processed, <br />eaten by the world. <br /> <br />Wheat from the chaff... <br /> <br />Transient thing, wheat. <br />Unsung developer, chaff. <br /> <br />Let chaff be sung long... <br />wheat eaten by voraciousness, <br />in one day.<br /><br />elysabeth faslund<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wheat-from-the-chaff/
