So tethered to time
We tilled the earth—
Wrought the broken lands
Brought long the rills—
Bedded up with love
Into the bad light—
Infused the dirt
With effusive death—
Primed those precious heads
Placed precipitous—
We walked to sow
Haps sorrow that way—
But souls well nurturing
Find some worth—
As whirls the suns and moons
And wandering stars—
And timid comes to life
Tranquil, in line—
First the feet spread
following fertile sprays—
Then rejoicing reaches
for autumn rains—
And the sun-side waxes
let’s say a week—
As winter wanes
and spring whelms over—
To swiftly rolling summer
we surely reap—
The harvest our-selves
that we have sowed.
©2026 R.A.R. Knight
Author’s Note:
This is the post which inspired this poem- The skull’s use in agricultural societies as a mystical symbol of an oath seems to be linked to the age-old dictum, you reap what you sow (particularly if you lie under oath). My point of connection—pineapples. https://x.com/archeohistories/status/1732386812289761611?s=20
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