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Sandy works against
the dawn:
the crops must
come in.
All night she bundles,
ties, and stacks,
she swings her giant
star-lit scythe and
gathers her cryin'
boys in.
Feed Jamie, cuddle Ethan.
Move baby to our bed,
soothe older brother.
Come sunrise the bundles are
neatly tied, but scattered.
Will the crib be empty?
Is Ethan in his bed?
Who's in ours?
Meanwhile a tired world sleeps.
The farmer?
She's fallen into the nearest haystack,
a few winks till dawn--
then back to the harvest of love.
On finding Sandy asleep
in Ethan's bed
September 25, 1984