Sits in comfort silence on his porch
at night thinking of the past and
puffing on his pipe he looks across
his pasture land into the gloom
from the moon’s reflection..
He rocks his chair as moths flutter
in the candlelight of window sill
and fly to safer places through the
cracks against he casements
Remembering days his youth was full
of play and games were chasing butterflies
through fields and swamps where bull
frogs lay and crickets click their mating
calls, while catfish hide among the weeds
waiting for the baited hook from fishing poles.
Summer turns to winters frost that now will
cover corn and grain upon the ground for
gofer feed so they can burrow deeper to
hide from winters chill and snow.
Harvest time is special and the fruits of labor
plenty, and pumpkins large and corn stocks
yellow. while sunflowers face the sun to give
up their seeds for salted taste buds.
The old man taps his corn cob pipe against
his weathered palm while sipping up the last
of lemonade in his cup he gives a holler to
old Yeller wagging his tail on the step, a good
old dog is he a mans loyal friend.
He turns his back and says good night to his
fields of plenty for so many years of toil now
to rest and dream of tomorrows early dawn
of rising sun and roosters crow the fields
await his last plow..
© Copyright 2012 by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved