the crush

My Beloved was rummaging around the archives again. He wanted me to put this one up. Actually, I’d forgotten I’d written this.

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“Come,” says The Harvester.

“And see the olive, crushed for the purest oil.”

“Come,” He says again.

“And see the grape, crushed for the sweetest wine.”

“Come,” says The Harvester, at last.

“And see the heart, crushed, for the fine things inside.”

“Not for naught. For the fineness inside.”