The Scyther

©2002 Andrew Calhoun, recorded on Tiger Tattoo

Hear the sound of grass cut down
From seven foot and higher
And here's the plier of his father's trade
The swoop and swoosh of the cutting blade
And through the fields, the scyther

He rose and bent as on he went
To swing the circle wider
He turned the prairie to a field
He made the stubborn tangle yield
In steady rows, the scyther

As if to stay eternal day
To bend and rise forever
He only paused for mid-day meal
To wet the stone to whet the steel
Then through the fields, the scyther

The day grew long come evensong
And slowly strode the tiger
A rusted scythe stands silently
For stone and time and victory
And through the fields, the scyther