The ageing farmer....
skin scarred by the sears of life, bentwith the weight of still being here
even if world shafted, thankful
for just living, patience seasoned, digs
with hope and hoe,earth
to sow seed with hands etched
with blisters and sweat, in the dust
where life resides, seeking for himself
no more than may suffice
until it gets dark for his few short days, tilling
his time away and then left
before the rice plantation, slouching
out of the ground, triple stalked, explodes
with flowers ,soon sunned into golden field
and on them the new generation's life is born,
that leads him to live in mankind
rather than in a name.
Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
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Editors' choiceWritten on 2026-02-02 at 16:47
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William Hughes |
