The Winnowing Way

A poem about loss and gain.

The Winnowing Way

As the wind blows,

each secret shows.

What was hidden

is made manifest.

What did we sow?

What did we grow?

Have we been cursed,

or are we blessed?

Touched by the breeze,

blown through the trees.

Not what we sought,

we have received.

Shells come away,

dropped to decay.

Pests tossed as well,

grant us reprieve.

How have we erred,

lost in the air?

Were these pieces

not parts of us?

Cruelly they fall,

tumbling all,

onto the ground

without a fuss.

What is revealed,

fit for a meal,

it is the grain

that was contained.

Were it not tossed,

this would be lost.

For every gain,

there is a loss.

What do we mourn?

Why be forlorn?

It was the husk

hiding the corn.

Naught did we waste,

now we can taste.

What was concealed,

now we embrace.

These are the things,

each season brings.

Showers will fall,

upon us all.

What will be grown,

shall be made known.

For questions asked,

we will be shown.

As the wind blows,

each secret shows.

Soft it arrives,

swiftly it goes.

What will we sow?

What will we grow?

All of our deeds

one day will show.