This poem was written after reading Cyndi McMillans Blog and playing with her word pairings prompts. It was a very interesting exercise with Cyndi weaving poems around the "prompted prompts" of other poets.
STILL LIFE They had drained away slowly sound of hammers, smell of fresh cut lumber, voices of hope, chatter of children, sweet aroma of fresh tilled fertile soil. Children grown up, parents grown old, land grown tired and dry. All that remains is the drabness of parched wood bleeding color on still life fields. John G. Lawless 4/12/2015
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