The Farm

January sun comes through the window
And warms my skin.
Weeds poking through snow covered meadows
That once were the fields and pastures
That fed the cows, pigs and chickens
That fed us.
I know they are sad and feel useless.

I stand in the barn, silent except for the
Wind blowing through the weathered boards
That were nailed in place with great pride
Many years ago.
Gone are the aromas that comfort me,
Hay, grain and animals.

An old tractor tire leans against the wall,
Worn smooth and cracked by the sun.
Round and round it went for countless hours,
Shoulder to shoulder with the one
Who worked so hard.
Neck of leather and back bent
From endless toil.

America has lost something much more
Precious than crude or gold.
It has lost it’s family relationship
With the soil.
Gone is the feed mill that brought
Such joy and adventure as a kid.
It saddens me that today’s child will
Never know the fun of building forts
Out of sacks of feed.

Old timers telling stories of war and hard times,
My brain soaking in every word.
These old men smelled of sweat and outside,
I couldn’t wait to grow up and smell like them.
The cuffs on their bibs filled with hay chafe,
Midland caps cocked aside,
Enormous, crooked hands impervious to cold.
Edmund, Marvin, Chet, Eldred, Glen & Gayle,
Alby, Harold and many others,
I miss you and what you stood for.