One of the New Voters 



the golden wheat, glorious under the summer sun. 

 Bright poppies flower in its depths, and convolvulus 

 climbs the stalks. Butterflies float slowly over the 

 yellow surface as they might over a lake of colour. 

 To linger by it, to visit it day by day, at even to watch 

 the sunset by it, and see it pale under the changing 

 light, is a delight to the thoughtful mind. There is so 

 much in the wheat, there are books of meditation in 

 it, it is dear to the heart. Behind these beautiful 

 aspects comes the reality of human labour hours 

 upon hours of heat and strain ; there comes the reality 

 of a rude life, and in the end little enough of gain. 

 The wheat is beautiful, but human life is labour. 



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