STONEHENGE HARVEST IN THE TURN OF LIFE

Motorised Monsters, red, yellow and green

And the long straight lines where the wheat has been

Grained, gathered in mountains in the back of trucks

Settled down into gold as they prance and buck

And the field mice cry

And the flowers lie

In the turn of life

The bundles of straw in the bales neatly done

Arrayed like chess pawns in the heat of the Sun

Then bundled in capture from out of the pack

To gradually form in one great golden stack

And the field birds cry

And the gentle weeds lie

In the turn of life

Grain rivers stored in the large silver rounds

And the grain silo groups lie heavy to ground

Filled with a golden elixir of life

Sun God's reward for the months of strife

And the wild hares cry

And the wheat stubble lie

In the turn of life

The grain on to Miller and fashionable stone-ground

Natural, whole grain, just like the adverts sound

Baker bakes perfect the upmarket grain

Then the rich ones consume it in pleasure quite plain

And the hungry men cry

And the Third-World child lie

In the turn of life