There are clouds in the corn.
The sunlight begins to fade.
The crop is ripe for harvesting.
Shadows climb between the stalks
As leaves of grace begin to bend,
Bowing to the will of the weight
Of an oppression cloaked in white,
Rather than embrace the fresh wind
That brings growth to the fertile field.
Row upon row marching to the sound
Of cold fear in the dreadful silence.
And all the voices we once heard,
Uplifting cries carried on the breeze,
From one corner of the field to the next,
Resounding in a united chorus of
Common purpose and common cause,
Now silent in the shadows of the clouds
As they await the reaping they have sown.