Poem For My Father
You were always tired, weary from hard work in the fields and barns. I tried to follow your instructions: How to rake new mown hay into long even rows; how best to cultivate the field you had turned over with the gleaming plow, you on the big tractor, me on the small. I didn’t do as well as you wanted. My eyes would stray from the field and look up at the clouds or off into the woods. A soaring…
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