Farming

A poem about the necessity of farming.

Morning glows with rapturous light,

timid as a maiden, shy with her charm.

Clouds rub against the sun like kittens,

hiding with their mother, safe from harm.

Hay smells sharp against the clear air,

awaiting the farmer to come to his fields.

Hope lies heavy on the bales stacked there,

a family depends upon the season’s yields.

Clouds rub against the sun like kittens,

hiding with their mother, safe from harm.

Hay smells sharp against the clear air,

awaiting the farmer to come to his fields.

Hope lies heavy on the bales stacked there,

a family depends upon the season’s yield,

A soft wind sings to itself by the creek,

trading murmurs with fat, yellow bumblebees.

daisies heliotrope and wink their black eyes.

Butterflies, up early, pirouette on the breeze.

The world is soft with morning rejuvenation,

eager to see what the day will eventually bring.

Ruffled rooster stands on the roof of an old shed

clearing his throat, he begins to raucously sing.

The earth will shake itself and rise to spin.

Soon noise will pollute the quiet solitude,

interrupting nature with its noisy intrusions.

Reviews

[MiriamMB]

This is beautiful I'm a sucker for vivid descriptions that make me an active participant in the poem. I smelled the hay, I watched the clouds and stood watching for the farmer. I mourned the loss of the quietness you described. Thank you so much for sharing this! Very well written.

[Sherry Asbury]

Thank you, Miriam...I appreciate you reading and commenting. I am anxious to read some of yoru work...