The sun set over the hilly pastures
Gold bathed the fields.
The old farmer walked toward the sun
As his shadow grew long behind him.
He worked his way slowly to his herd
Pushing himself forward with a long walking stick.
Each crease in his hand, which held his cane, as a rough task or moment in time.
He didn't much notice the green leaves
Now dipped in gold.
Neither did he notice
The sun coated his skin in bronze many years ago.
Despite the daylight he was losing,
The land and sky were blinding and bright.
His towering cane that rose above his slouched back
Clicked and clacked against the rocks and ground.
He had walked this path many times before
And so his steps were methodic.
Each one hardly audible.
Once he reached the top
The farmer, leaned on his cane, smiled at his flock.
Comments welcomed!
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Leatherbound
PoetryPoetry collection for my dad. Themes range from nostalgia to injustice to heartfelt. Despite its central topics, the collection attempts to return to a brighter tone from Violet's previous works.
