By John R. Greenwood
Twisting pavement
Old heavy trees close at hand
Hang shrouded branches
Over shadowed turns
Flowing gently
On September’s
Sunny day
Farmhouse nestled
With stacks of life
Piled neatly or not
Old sheds sag in
Backyard corners
While dogs bark softly
To freshen passing ears
Rusty tractors ache
Given to weeds and
Sumac blankets
Weary and wrought
Of long days gone past
Woodpiles rot under
Tattered blue tarps
Abandoned wagons
Left helpless
No load left to carry
Cold creeks gurgle
A sweet quiet motion
Moss smell hovers
And peeks through trees
Time seems sleepy
As you pull to roads edge
Sit quiet
Take a moment
Drink back road joy
Warmly in
J.R.G.8.31.09
(Written after a ride in Washington County)
Old heavy trees close at hand
Hang shrouded branches
Over shadowed turns
Flowing gently
On September’s
Sunny day
Farmhouse nestled
With stacks of life
Piled neatly or not
Old sheds sag in
Backyard corners
While dogs bark softly
To freshen passing ears
Rusty tractors ache
Given to weeds and
Sumac blankets
Weary and wrought
Of long days gone past
Woodpiles rot under
Tattered blue tarps
Abandoned wagons
Left helpless
No load left to carry
Cold creeks gurgle
A sweet quiet motion
Moss smell hovers
And peeks through trees
Time seems sleepy
As you pull to roads edge
Sit quiet
Take a moment
Drink back road joy
Warmly in
J.R.G.8.31.09
(Written after a ride in Washington County)
