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The pulse of freedom

There is a sight I hold dear. A misty morning, a grey veil, green hills in the background, lush and abundant. On the fore, at about 100 feet...

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Musings from farms

Farmhands moved away,
Lured by the glitz of cities,
hopes of better work.
Mother earth left deserted,
Coffee and jobs both erased.

Wild weeds aplenty,
Travails lost to empty nests.
The bosom, untilled,
Several genus trampled.
Empty percolators stare.

Reminiscent farmlands abound.



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4 comments:

Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.

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