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Nightfall at the Bend | A Poem by Elaine Meredith

This day was done;
the shift at the Bend
took it as it was.
There’d be no load at morning,
nor trucks rolled out, with bags
of barley and corn
piled high upon trailers.
The last beams of the sun
had cut to gold the warehouse
flown chaff and smoke tinged
sky from burnt over fields.
All had dawned along a seed
drill plank, with one slender stick
to clear the hopper feeds,
furrows sown with what once
was scattered in the wind,
and borne by beasts of the air;
to end on this dimming lane
below shaded levee banks,
with ditch siphons
pulled from the canal traces,
and river eddying silently
in somber falling shadows.
The idle of the lift motors
had been cut, and the blaze
plummeted from the sky.


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