08/08/07

Beyond butter-cupped curvacious hills,
Slow turning, corn churning mills,
Butterflies dance the dusky orchards,
Branches rise over purple orchids,
Lazy pitchforks stoop in rain soaked fields,
Harvesters gather grain, sullen earth yields.

Lightning tears a heavy horizon sinking,
Dark clouds float, silver moon blinking,
It shimmers as a coin on the base of a well,
Ripples formed, vibrates the old church bell,
Vast open terrain silences hopes and dreams,
Giving rise to haystacks of visions and schemes.

It is here boys wait by the iron tracks,
Tomorrow's lunch stuffed in polka-dot sacks,
Thread hanging from around bony knees,
Lonely willows shake in cold night's breeze,
Clambering on board during a one minute stop,
Bed among coal on the carriage roof top.

One thousand miles the wheels trundle west,
Coughing on chimney smoke they pray for the best,
Breathing their dreams as they surface again,
Not disillusioned like the old farmyard men,
Leaving behind mamas and country girls pretty,
For a taste of life in an uncertain city.


Copyright. Anna Tulachan 08/08/07