I heard my mother's song,
Sounds of breakfast,the kitchen radio,
Smell of bacon on the rattling stove,
Heard the slapping wood and wire screen door.
Window open to the sounds of birds:
Liquid flute-songs of meadowlarks,
Chirruping robins on the lawn,
Raucous coughing calls of crows,
The rooster bragging out his strutting call.
Breezes lifted the wet scent of sod,
The ever present smells of earth fresh tilled,
And musty odors of last year's hay.
Life on the farm moving twilight to day...
Everything conspiring to call me to play.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 7:21 PM UTC
I heard my mother's song,
Sounds of breakfast,the kitchen radio,
Smell of bacon on the rattling stove,
Heard the slapping wood and wire screen door.
Window open to the sounds of birds:
Liquid flute-songs of meadowlarks,
Chirruping robins on the lawn,
Raucous coughing calls of crows,
The rooster bragging out his strutting call.
Breezes lifted the wet scent of sod,
The ever present smells of earth fresh tilled,
And musty odors of last year's hay.
Life on the farm moving twilight to day...
Everything conspiring to call me to play.
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