On Sunday
autumn’s workers
will be bringing in the sheaves,
to pour upon the altar
while I’m stuck here in my seat.
If sheaves are sheep,
let’s say that,
and count our blessings deep.
But why must we compare some folks
to silly grains of wheat?
If ears of corn are cob-stripped
are the kernels ears at all?
When truths are left on pages
are they really truths at all?
Why do ear shaped words seem holy
when I press them to the sky?
But kernels on this hymnal
seem to fall amidst the lines?
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Published by Kae Bucher
Hi, my name is Kae Bucher. Thanks for stopping by.
I was born in the Florida Keys, but grew up in the Bay Area before migrating south for college. I completed my bachelor’s in English at Fresno Pacific University in California, where I minored in Christian ministry. I have also had the privilege of serving as a youth pastor.
In addition to teaching special needs students and raising four children, I also studied Special Education as a graduate student at FPU. I have now been writing for over twenty years.
Recently, I have written articles for iPatriot, and I am in the process of converting my front room into a greenhouse. I like storing humor and greenery, weeds and poetry, in mental tin cans. You will find my humanitarian dreams and political leanings organized accordingly.
Feel free to dig through my buckets…
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