Bad Poetry for a Good Friday.

I walked my field
A switch of blossoms in hand
And wondered —
How many feet have walked this land?
Three hundred years a farm
Is but a day
How many other soles have trod this way?
How many hands have cupped the soil
Smelled the loam
Led out the cows from their red wood home?
Who has planted maize and beans
By the happy stream
That bubbles out from the ground
While children played with happy sound
Among these willows?
To call this farm mine would not be true
It has belonged to the generations
And some day to you
Child who has not yet been born.

While it is yet my turn
I will love this land deeply.

About Silver Spring Farm

I am a beekeeper and organic gardener who is in the process of turning my renovated foreclosure property into a working farm. My etsy shop is located at where you can buy honey, lip balm, creams, soaps and other cool stuff. Bee happy!
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2 Responses to Bad Poetry for a Good Friday.

  1. Lynn says:

    This is NOT bad poetry…I love this poem. We are here but for just a moment, but the land has been and will be here forever…just think of the stories it has shared and will share in the future. Thank you for those thoughts!

  2. Farmgirl says:

    I beg you to take off the Bad in your title. Your poem is vivid and a beautiful journey. I can see the children of past ages playing your fields or through the trees. How wonderful!

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