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Dirty Winter
The stalks were there,
tall khaki rows but no
corn, no heavy harvest waiting
to thump, ka-whump
against the old wagon sideboard.
The wagon sat,
shedded,
hiding from the cold.
The farmer the same,
shedded,
fearful,
his misery elongated by January;
his disabled land drought-stricken,
dying.
His hopes dying too,
as the dust blew.
© Diana L. Lambson, Feb. 2003
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Best regards,
Leland