Poetry Corner

Muck Farm Moment, by Jim Farfaglia

I love to drive by them in spring,

black soil waking my winter eyes

weary from landscapes of white.

 

Oh, how their richness stretches far,

how they open  with such promise

and foretell a bountiful season.

 

Soon, farmers will draw their tractors

back and forth, back and forth,

breaking open that promise

 

and planting it with hope;

trusting sun and rain and time

to reward their months of toil.

 

One day, their dreams come true

in a green, glorious goodness—

something we can only imagine

 

when we drive by each spring.

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