Empty Pockets/Death of the Family Farm
The sun sears the field
on a blistering day
suffocating stalks of corn
they gasp
A lone farmer stands
and surveys the crop
wondering if this
is the end
Empty pockets so deep
that they form
a death shadow
the family farm
is dead
Poetry by Hans Bump
Read 238 times
Written on 2022-03-05 at 18:09
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