Axe over his shoulder
dripping blood.
He smiles
with a farmer’s pride.
This is harvest season,
and reaping has begun,
he’ll stock up his barn,
with fresh round crops.
By Emma
He smiles
with a farmer’s pride.
This is harvest season,
and reaping has begun,
he’ll stock up his barn,
with fresh round crops.
By Emma
***The image corresponding to this poem is violent and graphic in nature, but can be viewed here***
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