(#43) A Farm Day

The first burst of light emerges over the
Horizon of the yellow burning sun.
The day breaks, the mist lifts from
The sweet smelling grass down the hill-
Pulling the cosy dew blanket off every sunrise.

The square gold patchwork, like gold-leaf
Stands out brightly on the quilt of Mother's garden
The cleared out land burns a rust shade as the dust
Pulls west into the haystack with the white clouds overhead.
The cock on the wind vane swings with the changing drafts.

He will have a short breakfast, just barely enough-
For he needs to be out early in the sun
To take the cash cows to the fields,
To get his golden eggs from the coop,
To have his three bags full.

The boy will tend to the sheep and cows,
The dog maintains the order as he
Ponders in the meadows-
The days get colder and colder
Father must begin preparing hay.

The tractor's engine guns to a quiet by sunset,
The great orange hue floods over the
Windmill, roofs and dirt path. The cottage lights
Create shadows on the ground
As dinner is served, well earned.

By the strike of nine, the town gathers.
The animals rest in their stalls, fences latched.
The men play cards by the fire, they talk of harvest.
The women tell the children stories while sewing,
The youths, chasing skirts and charisma in the night.

Finally, as bed calls for night's tranquility,
At the faintly-red barn roof where the
Pale white moonlight feeds on the
Colours of the Earth from our eyes
The day is not over for one-

The watchful farmer with hunting gun,
Oil lamp, a vigil sentry, prowling about
Peering the night fog for wolf or crook-
He will not let his efforts go to waste, even
The scarecrow haunts his tired, suspicious mind.


For Joy, who wants this done so badly,
I hope your happiness surpasses my days of effort on this.