The Farmer

The farmer went out in the gloaming,
after the harvest to see
the season’s reaping.
The empty fields, the stark expanse
as the daylight grew lower
and the sky’s glow subdued,
He knelt on one knee, brooding-

He thought of his son, his only child,
in Philadephia, thriving,
who sent a letter now and then,
and came for Christmas dinners.

The farmer thought, soberly, I have
two or three seasons in me,
And then I’ll sell it all-

He rose stiffly, and turned
back to the house and saw
the lights and his wife
within,
and the smoke from the chimney
rising.

The Farmer

cuzco43

Plymouth, United States

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