Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 13
On his way to or coming from
Feeding cows
Whistling or singing,
Orange twines tied in bows
Swinging above the tractor hitch.
Bales strewn broken in chunks
Across the hard white ground;
Cattle steaming in chill air
Stoking bellies with summer hay,
Against the cold their only coal to burn.

I'd rather he had fallen,
Smile upon his wizened face
Blue with cold, heart given way,
Just the way he'd prayed to go,
Than to have watched
The helicopter veer away
Into a frozen sky.
Don Bouchard
Written by
Don Bouchard  65/M/Minnesota
(65/M/Minnesota)   
267
       naΗ§Γ­, Marshal Gebbie and rick
Please log in to view and add comments on poems