A cradle of scythes lay in a chariot.

You reap what you sow, I grow plans.
Plant them in my mind, let them expand.
Watered with thought,
Spruced with consequence,
Implanted quietly, with utter nonchalance.
Meanwhile, in society
I digress entirely.

Later when fruition has come to bear,
A portion of the harvest will have been ensnared.
The scythe has a name: Benefit Of The Doubt.
Don't fear the reaper,
Fear without.