The Author

The Author 
A man was coming to stay with us at our little farm, this was years
 ago when someone who could read the papers was an intellectual 
or if not a clever dick too smart for his own good. 
The writer was supposed to work too, as to get the feel of farm life. 
But he was weedy didn’t want to help with mucking out in 
the barn in the morning, he had to go back to his typewriter.

Finally, his manuscript was done he left a big eater he was not missed. 
Two years later when the book came out it has little to do with us 
but how hard he had suffered pretending he was a child slave and 
much was written about this, but no one came to our farm asking us 
about the man. Time has changed today people would have asked 
questions and not taking printed words for granted
Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

Poem

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