Bright Harvest by Grace Noll Crowell - HTML preview

A Wild, Wet May

A

HIGH wind, a wild wind,

The wet trees blowing,

Green boughs on gray sky

The whole day long,

The tall grass, the bent grass,

The meadow grass growing

Ready for the sickle blade

With its silver song.

A wild wind, a dark wind,

The swift waters taking

Their glad way, their mad way

Toward the beckoning sea,

And on a swaying sycamore

A mocking bird is breaking

His own heart, and my heart,

With piercing melody.

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