Green fields close cropped,

Roll out from under loose wire fencing.

The sky presses blue.

Awkward barns fall into themselves.

cows and pigs

Blacken, foreshadow a storm.

Daffodils dance

Reproducing in yards long abandoned,

Nodding yes, yes, yes, to it all.


Next door

Two mules huddle in shade

Thrown by a spindly poplar,

Gazing at nothing,

Eyes full and empty;

Brown as plowed earth,

Brown as a glass of iced tea.

By: Linda Stankard-Green

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