I see it, as shiny as the day i left it, in my youthful impetuous anger all those years ago, when I was so dis-satisfied and foolish but hopeful.
Just past the crooked tree, near a shallow slough,
A forgotten plow sits – still with clevis and pin.
Parked there by the farmer, away from the summer’s sun
Abandoned – then forgotten, with rusted piles of steel and tin.This stoic farmhand, wedded to the soil,
On a prairie grass field, while the summer wind blows.
The steering wheel, corroded and cracked remains fixed on a course
Just beyond field and furrows, a handy perch for the crows.©2017 Clarence Holm
When the pen takes control. 