When the Harvest is Done

I will not make it
in the funniest of ways,
well, that’s at least how I see things
within these final days.
Pardon my humor,
it’s dark at the worst of times,
but coming at least from me
that is when it is best to find.
I’m like the market
when the harvest is done,
for I sell myself short
but make one final run.
I am a widow’s well;
you can lean on me and cry.
Although my ship will not sail home
you’ll find me in the skies.


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