The Harvesting
I slipped into a fatal sleep,
Alone the other day,
And waking found that I was reaped,
Like wheat that sickles slay …
The new realm was a threshing floor
That drew out inner grain—
My inner self, my inner core,
The ‘me’ that would remain.
It cleared away the weevils too,
While winnowing the hull;
And as the chaff through warm air blew,
There came to view my soul!
My husk now thoroughly was purged,
And all that stood was me—
A naked core made pure emerged
Into eternity …
About this poem
While the poem is about harvesting, it becomes evident that what is being harvested is not wheat grain, but rather the inner self or spirit of a person. A ‘threshing floor’, in the sense that I refer to it in this poem, is a large circular area with a smooth surface where harvested wheat stocks are laid and then beaten, usually with a flail (a sort of whip), in order to draw out the grain. In order to draw out the grain thoroughly the hull (or husk) must be removed from it during the threshing process. All the leftover material and debris is called chaff and must be blown away from the wheat grain in a process called winnowing. Weevils are small beetles that wreak havoc on wheat stocks and stored grain. more »
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"The Harvesting" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 3 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/171387/the-harvesting>.
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