That old Adirondack weathered
gray and smooth by other hands
in other seasons. Every spare summer
day planted just on the edge
of some absent farmer's field,
I sat quietly, head back on the slats,
as if looking for a miracle,
a beach to appear or at least
a gull or two perhaps just one
glorious sunset to justify a vigil.
3 comments:
It's cute. Sorry, that's the best I can do. It's a nice cute little poem. It's a bit withered though. Maybe a little TLC could perk it up.
I'm not sure about the word "absentee"; Can't tell you why, it just hits me wrong.
This is good stuff here:
I sat quietly, head back on the slats,
as if looking for a miracle,
a beach to appear or at least
a gull or two perhaps just one
glorious sunset to justify a vigil.
This seems short for you PB. I like it. One image, one emotion, and to the point. Nice.
-Steve
Roust, I know what you mean but I didn't intend this to be profound rather just a snapshot of a moment in my life and what it may say about me then or some people is open to the reader to decide. :)
Thanks, Steve. I think you're right about absentee but I couldn't think of another word for it. Maybe it isn't important for the reader to know the field was neglected by a very part time farmer who lost interest in it frequently. Dunno. I'll mull it over. Thanks very much for the comments. Cheers!
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