Sugar maples lined
The dirt road.
Leading
To the farm.
Early evenings
Heading for the barn
Fresh milk
For the dinner table.
Trying to beat the cows
To the corner
To sit upon the fence
Or the water trough.
And wait
For Philip.
Philip,
My sweet, precious memories.
Of corn fields, red barns, cow manure.
Neighbors, friends, family.
Of freedom
Of this glorious country.
You were so much a part
Of me.
Of all of us.
Forever your singsong voice,
Will ring through the maples,
Calling the cows home.
