Harvest Time

Quietly I slip into the spirit,

And I see millions upon millions,

Stretched out before me like the sea.

For as far as my eye can see

They are like sheep without a shepherd,

Lost,

Gone astray,

Each to his own way.

I hear a voice like a trumpet,

From heaven reverberating,

Echoing on and on,

The fields are vast,

The fields are ripe

Where are the labourers?

Where are my mighty men and women

Whose hearts burn for souls?

For harvest time is here.

(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010
All rights reserved.