For DVerse Poetics today, we are to write inspired by wheat. At first, I was completely at a loss for any inspiration, but tonight I wrote this Chaucerian stanza.
Unless a grain of wheat shall fall upon
The fertile ground and die, a sacrifice,
It remains a single grain; but once gone
It returns, and is now worth well past twice:
Potential on which you can’t put a price.
Does wheat feel trepidation ere the fall?
Is falling in the field falling at all?