While ripening corn grew thick and deep,
And here and there men stood to reap,
One morn I put my heart to sleep,
And to the meadows took my way,
The goldfinch on a thistle-head
Stood scattering seedlets as she fed,
The wrens their pretty gossip spread,
Or joined a random roundelay.
My Observer's book of birds was a welcome gift when I was seven |
No-one got wheat fields quite like Vincent van Gogh |
detail from the Harvest by Van Gogh |
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