Wheat
Tallest of the crop, I held my head high.
Dancing in the wind, beneath the sun’s piercing eye.
Strong as steel, yet ignorant was I,
Never knowing that I was predestined to die.
The decay of time did its deed.
Bone dry I stood- a rattling reed.
Re-visiting memories of a burrowing seed,
Never knowing whom I would feed.
The reaper arrived, and with him despair.
Cut down and crushed, I clasped for air.
Battered to a pulp, so fine and fair,
Never knowing my great mission rare.
Placed over burning flames of white,
Smoking and searing though alive in spite
The enrapturing tongues of lacerating light.
Never knowing of my Lord’s delight.
Pressed and formed by hands so kind.
Placed with care upon a paten divine.
United at the altar with the fruit of the vine,
Never knowing of my role for mankind.
By the hands of the priest I am again held high.
Through his wondrous words, nature I defy.
Transformed into God, I let out a loving sigh.
All that I have gone through, I now know why
Fr. Thomas Flynn, LC
