Harvest Time

I saw the reaper pass close by one year,
And thought he would confront me face to face
And there and then remove me from my place.
The day was dank, the mood was dark and drear.
And yet his sudden visit held no dread
For one who knows of life's incertitude,
And can accept the reaper might intrude
Without a word of warning being said.

Some fruits are taken early, others late;
And who can tell the ripeness of their crop?
The reaper's scythe and sickle none can stop.
Already he has set each harvest date.

     My harvest time is yet unknown to me,
     But God's peace gives assured security.

© Tom Chapman 2010