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          POEMS - 2012 - GOING PLOWING



          Column

            

          GOING PLOWING


          I've packed a lunch,

          I’m ready to go,

          The tractor is warm and rumbling low,

          The hoppers are full,

          And geared to throw,

          There's plenty of heavenly seed to sow.


          An open umbrella,

          To shade the heat,

          Perched on the back of the captain’s seat,

          I see the horizon,

          That’s where we’ll meet,

          To watch the angels harvest the wheat.


          I’m towing a plow,

          A stunning mass,

          The blades are hard and sharp as glass,

          I’m going plowing,

          But no need for gas,

          The field won’t need a second pass.


          The furrows turn,

          Bottom to top,

          The heat is nigh for a heavenly crop,

          The old has passed,

          It’s time for a swap,

          Darkness reels to a sudden stop.


          The pests near here,

          Have turned their face,

          They thought we'd long abandoned the place,

          I’m happy to say,

          We own the space,

          We’re back to plow the fields of grace.


          The demons jump,

          As fish to sky,

          They flee the blades and twist awry,

          The eagles come,

          They are not shy,

          They dive the fields from up on high.


          The soil rolls,

          Too much to bear,

          The land it gasps a breath of air,

          T'was desparate,

          For a royal heir,

          Free once again in Eden’s prayer.


          The land has rocks,

          I pluck and haul,

          They nicely fit within the wall,

          T'is not a fence,

          And not a stall,

          Each a name for heaven to call.


          Round and round,

          The earth I go,

          I plow above to live below,

          For in the gap,

          That's where I know,

          A tractor with my prayers in tow.


          On harvest day,

          A bright bouquet,

          Fills the air with fresh new hay,

          The field's alive,

          And children play,

          As the little red tractor … plows away.


          Sheila Willar  -  March 22, 2012



          Column


          Isaiah 2:4 (KJV)


          And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.


          Ephesians 6:12 (KJV)


          For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.










          Copyright 2023 Sheila Willar


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