Stone Fences

Along the country roads Still strong they march. Rocks fitted with intricate care, Pieced together rock by stone, Without the help of mortar A century or more ago By farmers who ploughed the Glacial moraine of New England To plant subsistence crops Of beans and peas, corn And potatoes and beets, and Hay for their animals, Digging and hauling The rocks from the stony soil. Sweating and straining their Weary muscles to hoist the Heavy, awkward shapes Into just the right niche. They marked boundaries, Kept animals in their fields, Protected gardens and chickens From marauders in the night. Still they stand strong, Those ancient rock walls, Lichen covered and weathered, Enduring the freezing rain And ice and snow of winter, The thunderstorms of summer. Stoic reminders of the Stubborn persistence of Those who, with ox and cart, Wrestled farms from the Hard and unforgiving land And built stone fences. Along the country roads Still strong they march. Rocks fitted with intricate care, Pieced together rock by stone, Without the help of mortar A century or more ago By farmers who ploughed the Glacial moraine of New England To plant subsistence crops Of beans and peas, corn And potatoes and beets, and Hay for their animals, Digging and hauling The rocks from the stony soil. Sweating and straining their Weary muscles to hoist the Heavy, awkward shapes Into just the right niche. They marked boundaries, Kept animals in their fields, Protected gardens and chickens From marauders in the night. Still they stand strong, Those ancient rock walls, Lichen covered and weathered, Enduring the freezing rain And ice and snow of winter, The thunderstorms of summer. Stoic reminders of the Stubborn persistence of Those who, with ox and cart, Wrestled farms from the Hard and unforgiving land And built stone fences.