The Farmer’s Wife

Page header image: by Alex P from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/photo-of-grass-field-1227513/

The farmer’s wife hasn’t been around 

for days and days and without bounds

I watch the clouds roll in from all the trees

and knock my battered bruised old knees and wonder

what makes a woman so sure,

so hell-bent on remaining moored

that she might not see what lives beyond

in the cracks and valleys and creeks and ponds

that might offer solace to her despondent soul

without need for rest or pieces whole

of some drawn-out something, some sitting duck

in a world where no one is out of luck

except those who are left, all dumbstruck 

by the all-out, break-neck pace of the game,

the freak-out, keep-on, lasting exchange

of their time, their turn, their life in their name

for no more than that while, sat on that grange.

The farmer’s wife must be gone by now—

with pervading silence, she’d’ve let her brow

unfurrow, a sound, determined vow

for peace and for quiet, and that rolling cloud.

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