Once Upon A Little Farm

A Glimpse Into Our Country Life

Voices In The Wind

Did you ever hear the wind

Whisper as it whirled?

Have you heard it echo

Voices of the past?

The wrinkling rustle of the leaves

Is really Mama hushing baby to sleep.

The creak of the shed door, back and forth

Is just the repetition of teacher and pupil

In the old schoolhouse across the way.

The clang as air wraps around the silo’s ladder

Is really the farmer, calling his herd.

The breeze that rushes around the sill and through the screen,

That’s Grandmother, out the backdoor, emptying the wash basin.

The wind. She speaks.

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Song of Summer’s Passing

When the dusks and dawnings
develop that crisp chill.
When the suppertime sky
begins to darken.
When the greens transform to
reds, oranges, yellows, browns.
When the machinery lies idle
behind closed barn doors.
Blessed are those who store up
hot, humid, sunny memories.
Sing of brisk north winds.
Sing of pumpkins, laden with frost.
Sing of cornstalks, brittle and dry.
Sing of the eerie call of the
coyotes, wandering past,
under a silent November moon.
Sing of snowflakes –
descending lazily to the cold,
dead earth.
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