The Old Farmer Rests Warm In His Snug House
The Old Farmer Rests Warm In His Snug House
Within green grass in fields in Minnesota
an early Fall, a flaming sword to swing
no horses galloping in Dakota
yes, that damn lying woman lost her ring.
a rotten world dying flecked with you
your broken left wrist eating its sweet pain
winter dares to swing whilst snowing its glue
and life's splitting heartache rides its black train.
green glows and races the old crying clock
its dying spirit cursing winter's breath
angry sailors pray their ships finds the dock
for vehement sea has gifted cold death.
Within green grass a wet trembling mouse.
The old farmer rests warm in his snug house.
[B]Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet
October 13th 1972[/B]
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2023
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