From The Old Farmer Poem by BRANDEN B. BRANDEN
From The Old Farmer
Over yonder past stacks of wheat and hay
There lies the first pavements of a newly born city
Ever beautiful and frightening still
I am watching, standing like the American gothic
Wrought with overalls and a straw hat
I fork my hay, moving it to free the image
To free the image of this paved monolith
Flat like a laid down headstone
Indeed, a headstone to mother earth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 11:50:15 AM # 1.0.0.1119
