The Farmer

The Sunset field by E M Shafer

And they spread across my momentary page
with their feet deep in the wet grass
and they point their hands in the sky,
the rays are always sunset-orange,
they stand
looking over the field,
the river of blood
of their forefathers
flowing under their ground,
and they say
and they repeat,
someone must endure
for the debts of this world
to be freed.

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