Harvest.

Harvest.

Autumn is here
and there is no harvest
The trees have leaves but no fruit
The wheat has ears but no grain
and if you should return
I wouldn't know
how to begin to explain

I would offer you a gift
but of all the things I own
all I have is my sin
all I have that's mine alone

Spare me - I pray
another year or two
if you will extend your hand
I will fill a harvest basket for you

I have laboured in these fields
among this bracken, broom and whin
and a lifetime to understand
all you wanted was my sin.