Farewell ye fields of emerald square
whose ripelime stalks of flare
yield swaying surge
of wave in happy
sunkist glare.
Your shadeless fields of random grains
the ransom rant of raucous rain!
Sustenance lifted by purview of gods
to numb men’s lips
and ragtied dames
of baked bread fresh,
well consolate
who shake and breeze toss up that rattling shush of husk as sparse angelic
weeping winds
make trackless work from dawn to dusk.
When all walk home leathery, with lids of eyes smiling through paislyed
scarves
wrapped
about bedouinwise,
reminiscent of royal turban disguise.
