The Oldest Oak Tree in Ireland - Brian Boru's Oak in Clare - one time High King of Ireland,  born in Clare and died in battle at Clontarf in Dublin

Harvest is a time to mourn,

We cut and break the dying corn,

And leave the fields bare.

 

In Spring we tell the corn we care

In Spring we walk the fields and share

Our love with nature’s growing life

But with harvest comes death’s long sharp scythe.

 

Harvest is a time of grief,

We tie the corn into a sheaf,

And husk and chaff we rip and tear.

 

Harvest is a time of woe,

We claim the seeds we helped to grow,

Cook them in a burning fire,

An oven like an ancient pyre.

We bake the bread to fill our bellies

And the corn’s great seed discovers what hell is.

 

A cruel time this harvest season

For summer’s high sun reveals the reason

Why we plant and why we give,

It is truly so that others may live.

 

Harvest is a time of death

A time to stop and take a breath

And if you live to take another

Thank the corn and bless earth mother.

Save some seeds, a few to sow,

For from this death new life may grow.