The autumn sun over the fields And the breeze that stirs the moan over the hill Just in the distance Is the silent watcher of the harvest... Silent man of the harvester. He knows not why he does, He feels his loss to another man's gain and he watches the birds steer away. "Am I free and he the slave?" Then the wind brings crow and blackbird To lite upon the shoulder of the silent man... suspended in the air. They fill each other's presence Because of solitude that bonds them. ...It reminds me that the man who thinks himself "full" is emptier than the silent man, the Hollow Man of the Harvest. And the wind says his every word. This is a new poem that I wrote. I thought that is would fit autumn really well, and maybe the story behind the poem isn't too easy to get Enjoy! Ben.
