Fathers Pride

I’m the prince with calloused palms
up at dawn with stifled yawns; pulling on boots
feeding pigs and herding cows - stuck in mud, it’s raining now
and as I plough, I dream of life... not on a farm

of white walled castles crowned in gold (like the tales told of old) 
where beautiful princesses dance and laugh 
(with roaring fires in their hearths) blowing kisses at princes 
brave and bold - none of them shivering, miserably cold

but dreams are dreams, and so I plough
heir to acres; fit and well (and down in the village, there is this girl)
I have no castle, but I’ll ask for her hand 
in time, a son, and new prince of this land

allegoryallusionanalogydesiredreamrhyme

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James Inman

June 22, 2024 at 8:14 AM

Hi Marcus, I lived on a non-commercial farm as a child through my teens. We grew vegetables and fruits, raised pigs and chickens but only for our personal use. My mom canned tomatoes and froze various beans, Snap Beans, Butter Beans, Lima Beans, etc., and made the best Bread and Butter pickles and Peach and Strawberry Preserves I've eaten. It's hard work but I can't think of anything more satisfying than seeing the field coming to life. You've written a wonderfully nostalgic poem.