Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Rain & Harvest to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
In September the maize stands golden in the gentle afternoon,
With its tassels swaying softly to the rhythm of a tune.
Each cob is wrapped in husk-green, like a gift from the earth's own hands,
And each kernel is a promise from the fertile, faithful lands.
The farmers walk the rows and they touch the ripened leaves,
And they count the coming bounty, and the joy that never grieves.
The children hide among the stalks and play a game of chase,
And the wind runs through the corn rows like a laugh across a face.
Then the harvest knife is sharpened, and the baskets stand in line,
And the village gathers, singing, in the sun's last warm decline.
For the maize is not just food, it is a story of the year,
Of the rain, the sweat, the hope, and the neighbours gathered near.
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Commentary
Maize in September is a picture of a year’s work made visible. The poem walks through a golden field and shows how a crop can also be a story a village tells about itself.
“In September the maize stands golden in the gentle afternoon,” with “tassels swaying softly.” Each cob is “wrapped in husk-green, like a gift from the earth’s own hands,” and “each kernel is a promise.” The farmers “count the coming bounty” as children hide among the stalks and “play a game of chase.”
Then “the harvest knife is sharpened,” the baskets stand “in line,” and the village gathers “singing.” The poem says that “the maize is not just food, it is a story of the year,” made of “the rain, the sweat, the hope, and the neighbours gathered near.”