THE WHEAT REAPER
The wheat reaper
has ground his sickle
sharp.
His wine is also ripe
like the sickle
The wheat is waiting
to fall
like friends far away
coming over
to fall into your arms
He hears
the sound of wheat meeting the sickle
He is that sickle
as well as the wheat
If there were no winter
the reaper would have given up the harvest
Wine agrees
when it cuts his throat
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