Reapers by Jean Toomer
This is a short poem, but I think the imagery is very vivid.
Reapers
By Jean Toomer
Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones
Are sharpening their 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 the ground. I see the blade,
Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.
