this persistent catch in my throat’s heart
like pregnant fields
swollen with new grain
on the cusp of harvest—
the swaying wave of gold,
ripples of glory
for the wind’s tumble and tousle—
and the lone tree on the hillside slope
like a jewel on the head
of a good regent, forever pleased.
Tomorrow’s laughter will be that promise kept
and unkempt wondering
children shall abide after the threshing.
a poem by troy cady