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The War Against The Rye
2007-04-20 - 1:14 a.m.
before/after
strangely
non-functional guestbook
War Against The Rye
[ed. note: Argentum has no love
for this piece, he submitted it to the editorial desk at Saintly
Stories and with a bellicose growl stormed out.]
The War Against The Rye
The seagulls and the
geese,
stand shoulder-to-shoulder
in the war against the
rye.
Three times
the farmer laid down seed,
only to be
despised.
They soldier on
as good soldiers should,
making
their ravenous stay,
leading to a desolate field,
with snow upon
the way.
The snowflakes will twist and turn,
cold wind gusts
upon the barren ground,
And the geese are crying,
trumpeting
their victory loud
with no seeds anywhere to be found.
The icy
gales come and go
blowing the geese away
the farmer curses
and marks his luck,
as snowy winds wail
gusting
throughout the day.
Springtime sprung, as always will,
and the
birds will be well fed
the farmer sleeps,
cold is his pillow,
and hard is his downy bed.
His belly growls and is
unfed,
while the geese and gulls
chatter their love
for the
fool who rests his weary head.
Sumer comes
and the grain,
at last grown,
drying, leaning heavy down the line.
The gulls and
geese
are doing fine, singing, fighting,
making
love,
while the farmer drinks his wine.
Soon Autumn leaves
fall,
the Harverst comes
the Reaper not far behind,
and the
geese and the gulls,
shall ever be found,
in that field amongst
the rye,
waging war, all the time.
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