Furrows in the field
Far as the eye can see
Memory floods;
How it used to be
One man, one horse and plow
Worked all day to do one-tenth of
The vista before me
I imagine red covered ground
Sign of the blood they gave
Making this thing work
This thing called farming
In acrid soil
Sun up, sun down
Worn out, staggering home
With an equally beaten horse
Who will be cared for and fed
The misses out to meet him
With hopes of good disposition
Knowing that food and sleep
Along with her love would help him
At least she hopes as
He must meet the new day
Now racing by on interstate 94
I see two-story tractors
Computer programmed, air-conditioned
Plowing, tilling, fertilizing and planting
All in one pass - - - water to follow in
A synchronized, orchestrated way
As though this were the grand finale
I stop at a cemetery;
Look at the names of those here before
Study the dates and lifespans - - -
Sick at heart because thanks cannot be given
My tears, though sincere, can never sanctify
Their sweat, which flowed with dignity
They did that on their own
I leave in awe of what is and what was
Knowing who my heroes are and will always be
Steve Haarman
August 13, 2014 ^
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Steve Haarman 