Transcendental Sonnet #1397:
Farmer Sometimes
I weeded my backyard and I feel better
By meeting some primal agrarian need
The spirit of the act and not the letter
The general and not particular weed
I pulled them all nor did I discriminate
By manifest destiny my hand of fate
Acting as grim reaper and it was cheaper
Than having it done and a whole lot more fun
Synthesizing vitamin D in the sun
A Lance as a farmer not wearing armor
With calluses on my unaccustomed hands
Tonight as I write: my neighbor understands
I need to be a farmer sometimes he does too
It works for us and I think it might work for you
+Steven Curtis Lance
Copyright MMV
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