By Brynn Copeland

In days gone by

Farmers let their fields lie fallow.

A time of rest for the soil,

of decay and then, slowly



These days,

the soil must produce endlessly.

With no time to regenerate, it must be forced,

as we are forced in our world

so intent on constant production.


Why follow this mad god whose cracking whip

is driving us to the edge of doom?

Do your bones not long for a time of rest?

Does the whirlwind of your mind not long for a moment’s pause,

to hear the wind in the trees, the questions so long unasked

and the raven’s wise reply?


One day I will play music again,

and the genesis will be organic,

the strains of melody effortless,

with rhythm voluptuously flooding

and feeding me.


But, today, let it be enough that

in soft green grass,

I lay me down.




Brynn Copeland is a writer and arts educator who writes poetry, short stories, plays and personal essays. She finds great solace in gardening, and regularly volunteers her time to mentor children in the community. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Aquill Relle, The Lorelei Signal, Quick Brown Fox, The Spirited Woman, So to Speak, Bread ’n Molasses, and Vitality Magazine, among others. Her poem “All Those Years” was short-listed in the 2011 Aquill Relle poetry competition. She lives in Atlantic Canada with her composer husband and two cats.

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