Blackbirds

Behind, left in dust, of the old gravel road is a faint trace of Marlboro and a soft summer wind Skies burn orange and amber, and a blazing red sun, that is filtered by a windshield, that's never been groomed A radio station, has more static than tunes and the song of the work day are tires, worn thin The sun's going down, where the road never ends There's a bend near the hill, where a windmill spins slow and where dozens of blackbirds create ebb and flow They dapple the rain clouds, like bats out of hell then will perch pole to pole, plucking heartstrings, as well Headin' home there are doves, that will bend every limb, sittin' high in the cottonwoods, while cocking their heads... Where a hawk circles low over fields, leveled plain waiting for thunder to bring home the rain She waits by the door, beneath light from the porch It halos her hair, like a torch that she's carried from the day they were married, in a little white church that has baptized a newborn, asleep in the crib He drives an old pickup, with a paycheck so slim He has sweat on his brow, and grit on his chin He is bringing home flowers, his heart and his grin There is smoke in the horizon, from a fire within... Not far, there is heaven where all reason begins ______________________________________________ "Sing Me A Country Song" Contest: Resubmitted for Skat's Contest: Premiere Contest: #9 Written : 10/12/13 ____________________________________________________________