Threshing Out the Grain – no bun intended

Mesmerized by

reflections

creased

upon

the threshing floor.

 

Memories of

long ago days

and yesteryears

and tomorrow’s

todays.

 

Staring hard

inside

where the grain is threshed

for life

and spoilage spent.

 

Reach out

the hand

the winnowing fork

the wind

beating, flailing, stamping out the grain….

 

Ya know,

there are some days

ya just wanta say,

“Thanks, but hold the bun…

I’ll just have the patty please.”

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