Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones
Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones
In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done,
And start their silent swinging, one by one.
Black horses drive a mower through the weeds,
And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds,
His belly close to the ground. I see the blade,
Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.
This poem is in the public domain.
Born in 1894, Jean Toomer is the author of Cane, a book of prose and poetry describing the people and landscape of Georgia.
Date Published: 1923-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/reapers