July

The blue above
forming July sky.
Summer harvest,
bliss.
Feathered flock ripple 'round,
sheepish smiles being bare.
Warm horizon,
He watches.
Toil,
toil away.
He watches composed.
At Us his keen eye falls.
Hack, sweat and fruit.
Yield in the yellow
the glow sets us away.
For it is Us who stomach
June, July or October.
A furnessed cringe sees to Us
as We tick around the ring.