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The reaper

The reaper reaps in random ways
no signpost warns of last lived days
but ancient ears can hear the sound
of thundered hooves upon the ground

on blackened steed with fiery breath
the sickle scythes of pending death
with slackened reins the reaper rides
as changing gait our fate decides

and now the day on random ground
the sickle's path has laid us down
and on he rides for those to come
whose random lives soon now be done

till silence falls the fields around
and winter snows make white the ground
we rest awhile with random friends
and in the spring anew begins

as clover lines the babbling brooks
and flowers spring from tiny nooks
and deer and rabbit come to graze
the reaper reaps in random ways

and so again that day will be
with promise new of destiny
till thundered hooves of blackened steed
the reaper comes again.

by Michael Bross

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