virtuoso
11-29-2013, 04:26 PM
On a dusty, Great Plain's path
rolls a mule-drawn wagon
carrying a grizzled, wooden
box to its final resting place-
a shady Oak tree with scraggly
limbs, and a sparse acorn yield,
an Eastern transplant like its
cultivator that symbolizes the
toils of short, unforgiving summers,
and the spirit of a transient ploughboy
His calloused hands released from the plow;
sterile fingers now melded to throttled
wooden box, blistered feet no longer to
tread measured rows, forthwith to fertilize
the crooked channels of blind moles, and
furrowed brow that pressed the coming
seasons, burrows in the shifting soil;
sentient mind that calculated seed yields
now addled brain fallowing in listless weeds
heart that longed to see fields of golden
wheat, beneath a cobbled cross pointing
to the Summer Triangle's eternal Summer
Time kept by Day's soaring sun
now spindled through the grains
of a buried hourglass.
Rusticated barn with its life-giving
store traded for the meager mold
of a rotting coffin. Sturdy clapboard
shack shunned for a shallow grave
covered with lifting sands.
Cultivated wheat tassels exchanged
for two, transplanted wild flowers
A doleful wind curdles the Plains,
not a requiem to a molesting hand,
for no man could tame the grifting
wind, or shield the sun's seething
beams. A soliloquy to a meager
itinerant, who barely scratched its
native strain, and only lightly tossed
its swirling soil.
rolls a mule-drawn wagon
carrying a grizzled, wooden
box to its final resting place-
a shady Oak tree with scraggly
limbs, and a sparse acorn yield,
an Eastern transplant like its
cultivator that symbolizes the
toils of short, unforgiving summers,
and the spirit of a transient ploughboy
His calloused hands released from the plow;
sterile fingers now melded to throttled
wooden box, blistered feet no longer to
tread measured rows, forthwith to fertilize
the crooked channels of blind moles, and
furrowed brow that pressed the coming
seasons, burrows in the shifting soil;
sentient mind that calculated seed yields
now addled brain fallowing in listless weeds
heart that longed to see fields of golden
wheat, beneath a cobbled cross pointing
to the Summer Triangle's eternal Summer
Time kept by Day's soaring sun
now spindled through the grains
of a buried hourglass.
Rusticated barn with its life-giving
store traded for the meager mold
of a rotting coffin. Sturdy clapboard
shack shunned for a shallow grave
covered with lifting sands.
Cultivated wheat tassels exchanged
for two, transplanted wild flowers
A doleful wind curdles the Plains,
not a requiem to a molesting hand,
for no man could tame the grifting
wind, or shield the sun's seething
beams. A soliloquy to a meager
itinerant, who barely scratched its
native strain, and only lightly tossed
its swirling soil.