My father worked the land with
Both horse and tractor plough.
That family way of life is past,
We are all city dwellers now.
My father and mother dead
My brother followed them on
I’m the last of that generation
And my country links are gone.
In the churchyard family graves,
Their once turfed burial mound
Unmarked by stone, are now sunk
To be level with the ground.
I use words to paint for grandchildren
Pictures of working days on the land,
Of much less complicated times:
And I know they try to understand
But i am just grandad reminiscing
When I tell of past country ways.
They try listen patiently, but
We are all connected these days.
After a while their patience goes.
They feel the call to be on line
To worlds more exciting than
That long passed one of mine.
So I dream of Fordson tractors
And the tall powerful Shire horse
And they dream of things
From their more modern source.
I wish them long and rich life
Happy and with good health,
Sad they’ll not experience my world
Once rich in everything but wealth.
Storm Our Old Shire Horse.
Storm our old Shire Horse known for his strength.
He's loved by all in our town
Throughout the years he's helped those with fears
as a storm brings an old tree down.
As Storm dressed in his harness walks on with the
greatest of ease.
It's nothing to Storm as he gets the job done
clearing the storm felled trees.
Walk on, walk on the township applaud
thanks for your help Storm they all shout.
For they know in their hearts if a new storm
should start then it's Storm to the rescue no doubt.
A translucent snowfall is far better off financially than a transmitted radio signal. This is not monetary moments. This is mystifying mystical movements. Falling thick. Sticking. Good. Now kindly remove the heavy iron stockings from that shire horse. It really requires delicacy. Hay is a format squared so always underline when placing. And pacing will not please a ground nor a giant. In a statement saying that the mind is a bookshelf. It is also mentioned but glossed over that the deficit of the lower branches are swaying in a climate of climaxing chaotic chapters. It is never wise to look at a moon and think sun. Or ignore a shred of material on a kitten frame. Dilute always a juice of an acidic fruit. It is wisdom that serves soup in golden goose headed urns. Fantastic. Great. Interwoven interlinking indeed. And a sap of stunned ship shopping. Hahahaha now dip a soldier in a boiled egg dish. Hahahaa bananas booming bongos bringing bakeries'. Xxxxx fortifier fortress weeds xxxxx staturisation sip sip sip *** cosmopolite xxxx cosmological z with a p y q zzzz
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.