NORWAY, 1894Olav -- son of Erik Bj rnsson -- seventeen, swung his father's scythe and dreamed: The singing scythe Grandfather Bj rn had madeand honed each time he found a bit of shadeand passed on to his oldest sonto pass on to his oldest sonto pass until there were no longer sons --the scythe hissed like the grains of sand on the beachthat hiss when a wave falls back and the bubbles burst.The wind that whispered through the grainand dried the sweat...
Related Subjects
Poetry