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Jean Toomer - Reapers

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 ground. I see the blade,
Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.

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Added: Feb 21 2003 | Viewed: 430 times | Comments and analysis of Reapers by Jean Toomer Comments (254)

Reapers - Comments and Information

Poet: Jean Toomer
Poem: Reapers
Poem of the Day: Dec 21 2008

Comment 254 of 254, added on August 7th, 2014 at 4:44 PM.
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Comment 253 of 254, added on August 7th, 2014 at 3:01 PM.
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Comment 252 of 254, added on August 7th, 2014 at 1:40 PM.
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