There is an invisible harvest we are reaping.
The scythes of attention go snickity snack.
In the lofts of our mind, grain is heaping.
When winter comes, we will never lack.
There is an invisible harvest we are reaping.
What you have learned I too shall learn.
Our bushels fill up, a consummation fated.
Only with such bounty can we turn
into what our husbandry's created.
There is an invisible harvest we are reaping.