3 September 2012
Red glow haunts the sky, Taunting it at its edges. Darkness continues to up high, Too the moon, and its starling pledges. Harvest dust fills the gothic air. Making it thick in the moonlights light. The red, the blood of a thousand crops flare. Seedlings pushing, pollen giving the fight. The hum of the ploughing tractors Coughing and spluttering the deep. Everything plays its factor. The harvest makes the night sky weep.
©Odd
Harvest Sky • Opuss № I