Echo and wail, through canyons
Of glass, stone, and steel.
Gaslight tales and smoke,
Obscure and obfuscate
The weathered and withered eyes
Of angry old men.
Will the threshing floor chafe,
When the sledge elects the grain
And rejects the chaff?
Will the chaff arise and
Falsely claim it is grain?
Shall the harvest make war upon itself
In resentment, in grief, and in rage?
Life will suffer.
Grain will be spoilt.
And the wounded will reign,
While the children mourn
For their dead fathers.
Mick McKellar
January 2021
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