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Yielding GrainMark 4:3-8 The farmer went out into the field to sow, As he planted, some seed fell off the row; The birds came and devoured the seeds, Some more fell in the rocks by the weeds; The soil was very poor among the rocks, It sprang up fast, but very flimsy stalks; Since there was no real depth to that dirt, The rising sun caused the growing to avert; With no root it just merely withered away, The plant just died and was left to decay; Still more seed fell in amongst the thorn, The thorns overgrew as the seed were scorn; They were unable to grow or yield any grain, For the thorns also drank all of the rain; Other seeds fell onto some fertile ground, Brought forth a yield that really to abound; Growing up and increasing what I am told, Yielding as much as thirty and sixty fold; The moral of the story's really quite plain, What kind of soil are you in yielding grain? Richard Newton Sherrer Copyright ©2004 Richard Newton Sherrer Vote for this poem
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