Sonnet

The harvest is rich.
But the labourers are few.
How can we search out our niche.
How do we find our due.

In Spitzweg’s painting the sky is without feature, vast, taking over half the canvass.
These are like the Eastern flat lands I know so well.
Yet here is a church rising from the plain not some pylon mast.
You can almost hear the toiling Angelus bell.

Here is a calm procession of nuns and children.
A soldier and his love, Farmers resting by the side of the road.
No hectic movement, here you can only have walked or ridden.
Yet a rich harvest is bestowed.

Is the message that hope can come in slowness.
And not necessarily in hastiness.

Haiku

Hope comes in slowness
Not always in hastiness
And harvest comes in