21.06.2026
To my wheat
***
Mowing hay side by side with the farmers,
In the solstice breeze, goldest day, quite mead,
Musing back to Tolstoy’s country hamlet,
Where seas consisted of wheat.
On the solstice day the grass is buzzing
With fragaria, bees, rays of sun,
On the solstice day hope is rising
When the wheat plants begin to sing!
Amber stalks are crackling like crickets
In the solstice breeze, skyward hands,
Sounding like the pine in a forest,
Or the piano of rolling waves.
It is blonde, whispering music,
sunlight prayer trapped in the fields-
– once you hear its silk husky murmur
you will never-ever forget…
