Earthy Glow On a Farmland
Sometime, in July's budding charm
when the harvest of earth's clay affirms
that which exposes a content heart,
I remember a glimpse of rare delight
accepting the slow exposure of one morn
when daylight warms Grandpa’s hands
soaked in earthy glow on his farmland.
A rumbling wind turns amiable,
as bamboo drifts along lush curls
glossing the husk of our fond whispers,
oh, it is as simple as that:
his gaiety becomes an answered prayer
tasting the bliss of simple favors
bestowed by a yield of cornfields
reflecting the thrill of labor harnessed.
In a flash, I watch Gramps' hat flying
like a kite across a wispy sky,
my innocence releases a laughter’s dance
playful and blithe at age seven,
while he, born from fruits of life
ripens still, on his golden year with ease.
Rob Carmack's Golden Days
4/3/2015
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2015
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