Prayer for the Harvest King
by Ari
The last of harvest comes into the home,
The final bushels pass the threshold stone,
The grain is cut, the stubble in the fields
Reminds us of the bounty of our yields.
He is in every root and loaf and sheaf,
He is in each saved seed and drying leaf,
He is the cherished hopes we secret save,
To plant next spring in each their earthen grave.
God of the Ancestors, Lord of the Mound,
Whose people here are gathered all around,
We hail you as your golden fades to brown,
We know it was for us that you went down.