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Feb 2013
He was an old old man,
sitting in a chair,
older than he was,
he would sit in that old chair,
staring at the Corn Field,
maybe he saw something spectacular,
maybe God,
or an Angel,
he would take deep inhales,
as if they were his last,
making them count,
getting in one last victory,
the smell of his land,
the trees,
the animals,
the ski,
the planet,
but he never went,
he sat there,
rocking back and forth,
the farm was always quiet,
no visitors,
the rain came at times,
graying over the land,
which he didn't enjoy very much,
he'd close his big,
heavy wrinkled worn eyes,
and imagine running through the rain,
through the Corn Field,
as he did when he was young,
young and didn't think too much,
the Corn Field glowed,
like hot metal it glowed,
sometimes he never slept,
he'd just stay up for days,
no food,
no water,
no using the restroom,
almost stunned,
stunned by what?
I couldn't say for sure,
but his big green eyes,
were weighted on that Corn,
the rain would come,
and the house made a funny noise,
you could hear the birds,
scattering looking for a dry place,
you could hear the road,
being drenched,
the hard rain drops,
smacking against the old paved road,
getting so loud,
only a hum came about,
emerging across the hill like a silent marching band,
or a group of lost holy men,
chanting humming something of significance,
but the sound of the rain drops,
tapping the leaves of the Corn,
he could hear intently,
with this he'd softly press his aged lips together,
close his eyes,
and inhale,
suggesting to Death, or God,
that this moment,
is perfect for me to go,
but the rain was still to be watched by him,
the *** holes in the road,
filled like the palms of a child,
as it rained,
was to be heard by him,
he was okay with this,
he was okay with the duty he had,
to keep record,
of the beauty,
he had heard,
weeks would pass,
before seeing a truck,
a lonely old steel car,
or even the zig zagging hum of a fertilizing air plane,
he felt at times he wasn't even on Earth,
the he had died,
last harvest,
when the rain never came,
and the corn dried up,
and crumbled over on itself,
but he had food,
cans and cans of beans,
which he lived off of for a year,
but the corn had come back,
and he sat in the chair,
with wonderful eyes.
Written by
Savio  Kansas
   LDuler and Logan M Glover
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