Oh Ra!
how glorious were your children
how they stood so proud and straight
there in the golden cornfield
there by the mouldering five barred gate
grained and glorious were they
their solar’d petals fixed
in zealous worshipping orbit
around the honeyed amber discs
there in the mornings of Autumn’s days
benevolently burnished
by your infinitely matchless rays
I cannot bear to see them now
reduced to shadows of their former selves
glorious  heads diminished
confined to imprisoning vases
upon the dusty shelves
nor should your silent sons and daughters
be mown down by the baleful flails of the foe
and thus reduced
to the silent status of  plague dead
carried in rattling carts for burial
your brightness fading from
their once nectared heads

Memories 1950's fields of corn from which sunflowers were cut down

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