A Farmer’s Soliloquy, Beneath the Dreaming Sky

(Enter FARMER, earth-worn and thoughtful, holding a beet. The sky is brushed with twilight.)

The day now fades, and dusk begins to sigh,
While soft winds stir beneath a painted sky.
The soil has spoken in its quiet way—
A gentle harvest on a golden day.

First came the greens, all tender, fresh, and bright,
A patchwork quilt of shadow, sun, and light.
I gathered them with care, leaf after leaf,
Each one a note in spring’s brief, blooming grief.

Then chard, ablaze in crimson, gold, and flame,
So proud it seemed too wild to ever tame.
It stood like fire against the furrowed ground,
A burst of joy where silence might be found.

The radish popped, a sharp and crimson spark—
A bite that woke the tongue and left its mark.
While Chioggia beets lay sleeping, soft and deep,
Their candy stripes a secret they must keep.

The leeks were calm—long whispers in the field,
With quiet strength and sweetness gently sealed.
And Butterballs, the earth’s own golden prize,
Rose smooth and round beneath the watching skies.

The tulips swayed—a final, fleeting grace,
Each petal holding light upon its face.
I plucked them slow, as if they’d float away—
The closing hymn of this long, lovely day.

The crates are full, the dusk begins to yawn.
Tomorrow brings more light, and I’ll press on.

~Eddy