A FIELD IN JANUARY
Old plank fence,
Empty gateway.
Not even a path
In the winter grass
Revealing recent passage.
Once fertile fields
Now bounteous with
Goldenrod and Cedar,
Queen Anne’s lace,
Honeysuckle, red haw.
Under your boots,
Weed-covered earth
Still bears shallows rows,
Disintegrating scars
From long-gone plows.
You have to ask yourself,
Why? What happened here?
What caused this abandonment?
Finances? Sickness? A bad marriage?
A life as fallow as this field?
Only questions remain…
Plus a field of weeds,
A rotting wooden fence,
Deserted gateposts,
And ghost lines in the earth.
2 comments:
Wow, you're a poet too.
Good stuff, Grizzled, I'm really glad you posted this.
Forest…
You are a kind soul. Thank you.
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