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s-lyman-templePoems
I creeping up slowly through the dew dirt and grit stuck to a slimed back trailing off into the pre-dawn purple pink elastic head pushes forth exploring new territory for foodstuffs on a chilly morn near a dilapidated barn greying wood darkened both by the time of day and the coating of early morning moisture stretching out and doing a masterful accordion impression the tiny flesh-colored soldier presses on so as to eat before the sun finds and cooks him II still wet, a brown milk cow travels slowly bell clangs randomly as if the uneven ground were sheet music and her hooves the fingers of Bach long lolling tongue stretches forth to clean away nostril debris and reposition yesterday’s cud one large eye scans the farmhouse door looking for a light or signs of life as the daily fest arrives with each breaking day a low bawl escapes her mush filled mouth an attempt to signal as the sun cometh III upon a post a small finch lights without fanfare or announcement a song bursts forth filling the quiet valley with whistles followed by chirps and tweets the greeting is returned by a thrush hiding in the brambles soon a chorus erupts to greet the sunshine and express gratefulness for another beginning bouncing down and fishing a twig the little finch, proud of her concert returns to the job nests do not build themselves and the young will come in short order mashing the twig into a muddy slot and stamping it perfectly into place eyes cast across the meadow seeking flying insects unaware… breakfast at the farm takes many forms
0
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
farmland daybreak
I creeping up slowly through the dew dirt and grit stuck to a slimed back trailing off into the pre-dawn purple pink elastic head pushes forth exploring new territory for foodstuffs on a chilly morn near a dilapidated barn greying wood darkened both by the time of day and the coating of early morning moisture stretching out and doing a masterful accordion impression the tiny flesh-colored soldier presses on so as to eat before the sun finds and cooks him II still wet, a brown milk cow travels slowly bell clangs randomly as if the uneven ground were sheet music and her hooves the fingers of Bach long lolling tongue stretches forth to clean away nostril debris and reposition yesterday’s cud one large eye scans the farmhouse door looking for a light or signs of life as the daily fest arrives with each breaking day a low bawl escapes her mush filled mouth an attempt to signal as the sun cometh III upon a post a small finch lights without fanfare or announcement a song bursts forth filling the quiet valley with whistles followed by chirps and tweets the greeting is returned by a thrush hiding in the brambles soon a chorus erupts to greet the sunshine and express gratefulness for another beginning bouncing down and fishing a twig the little finch, proud of her concert returns to the job nests do not build themselves and the young will come in short order mashing the twig into a muddy slot and stamping it perfectly into place eyes cast across the meadow seeking flying insects unaware… breakfast at the farm takes many forms
s-lyman-temple
Written by
s-lyman-temple
American
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
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