名人诗歌|Reapers

Black reapers^{1 with the sound of steel on stones}

Are sharpening scythes^{2. I see them place the hones}

In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done，

And start their silent swinging， one by one.

Black horses drive a mower^{3 through the weeds，}

And there， a field rat， startled， squealing^{4 bleeds.}

His belly^{5 close to ground. I see the blade.}

Blood-stained， continue cutting weeds and shade.