Karen
08-02-2014, 03:19 PM
There is an old FarmAll
That sits,
Lonely, rusting
A solitary reminder of the past
Planted on the manicured grass
Of a nearby suburban ice cream stand
Plow blade resting forever on the grass
It has not moved in years
Rusted so much I doubt
Any of the parts still turn
Even the tires look
Decayed and brittle
In winter it is buried
Beneath heavy snow, ice
And dim light casting faint shadows
Snow pools around the old black tires
Like wet sand on the beach
I wonder if it dreams, then,
Of the spring to come
Remembering fields to plow
Rocks to avoid
Green growth to part
And the pleasant rumble of the
Engine in the quiet misty mornings
And in the autumn
As leaves from neighborhood trees
Fall on and around it
Turning gold and russet
Does it remember
The hard work of harvest
Pulling a thresher, a combine
Slowly moving through
The rows of past-due corn stalks
Cutting and grinding before
The ground freezes and oil thickens
Does it remember and long for the times
The farmer brought it in for the winter,
Lubricating joints and checking parts
And lovingly preparing it
To endure the hard cold
Cars drive past, month after month
Unseeing, uncaring about this
Old relic from decades past
People who couldn't tell the difference
Between a FarmAll and a John Deere
Or know how important and proud
This stalwart machine once was
Season after season
And still it remains
Rustier, sadder
Sunken deeper into the ground
As endless days go past
Grass goes dormant, then
Comes back to life only
To die again
But in summer, yes, in Summer
The children find it.
Laughing, they run to it
Draw toward its mystery
Like bees to blossoms
They climb on it
Wondering, imagining
Their laughter rings out
Over the cries of parents to "Be careful"
Only then does the old Farmall
Feel useful again, and vital
And this job feels makes it feel
Important in a different way
As if these city kids, climbing and pretending
Might somehow, it hopes,
Feel connected to the soil
To the earth, the sun, the air
And get an inkling
That food does not come
Shrink-wrapped from a grocery store
But from the same dirt to which they tumble
Laughing,
In the summer sun
http://PetoftheDay.com/talk/attachment.php?attachmentid=58462&d=1407010827
That sits,
Lonely, rusting
A solitary reminder of the past
Planted on the manicured grass
Of a nearby suburban ice cream stand
Plow blade resting forever on the grass
It has not moved in years
Rusted so much I doubt
Any of the parts still turn
Even the tires look
Decayed and brittle
In winter it is buried
Beneath heavy snow, ice
And dim light casting faint shadows
Snow pools around the old black tires
Like wet sand on the beach
I wonder if it dreams, then,
Of the spring to come
Remembering fields to plow
Rocks to avoid
Green growth to part
And the pleasant rumble of the
Engine in the quiet misty mornings
And in the autumn
As leaves from neighborhood trees
Fall on and around it
Turning gold and russet
Does it remember
The hard work of harvest
Pulling a thresher, a combine
Slowly moving through
The rows of past-due corn stalks
Cutting and grinding before
The ground freezes and oil thickens
Does it remember and long for the times
The farmer brought it in for the winter,
Lubricating joints and checking parts
And lovingly preparing it
To endure the hard cold
Cars drive past, month after month
Unseeing, uncaring about this
Old relic from decades past
People who couldn't tell the difference
Between a FarmAll and a John Deere
Or know how important and proud
This stalwart machine once was
Season after season
And still it remains
Rustier, sadder
Sunken deeper into the ground
As endless days go past
Grass goes dormant, then
Comes back to life only
To die again
But in summer, yes, in Summer
The children find it.
Laughing, they run to it
Draw toward its mystery
Like bees to blossoms
They climb on it
Wondering, imagining
Their laughter rings out
Over the cries of parents to "Be careful"
Only then does the old Farmall
Feel useful again, and vital
And this job feels makes it feel
Important in a different way
As if these city kids, climbing and pretending
Might somehow, it hopes,
Feel connected to the soil
To the earth, the sun, the air
And get an inkling
That food does not come
Shrink-wrapped from a grocery store
But from the same dirt to which they tumble
Laughing,
In the summer sun
http://PetoftheDay.com/talk/attachment.php?attachmentid=58462&d=1407010827