Family Plowing Poem by Duane L. Herrmann

I plow the paper with a pen
engaged as the family has been
in cultivation: sowing and reaping.

I plow the paper with a pen,
in a solitary field -
it always has been.

My father was a farmer,
his father, and his before him;
we are plowmen in our rows.

I plow the paper with a pen -
rows of words across the space
in neat and even lines.

Though plowing is the family business,
my 'machineries' now differ
for a different kind of crop.

But the plowing is the same:
long straight lines
across unmarked fields.