Who met the hundred morns

Far-off the field in the secret hours
who left to dwell in older age
saw the rust as raven’s wing near
grain and wheat as
gray waves the field’s shore
the fall wind crisp and cold. …

Met the harvest machine thrashing
till a hundred morns
had the thistle seed grown
wept the rain
the parched earth clay
stolen drops it too awaited. …

The hours no longer ticked
and he who sold the tillage land
the smithy blows
the numberless years
the wind no longer wandered
the weathervane. …

Once of innocence- childlike colors
silence of turning and turning
it cannot hear
the laughter- flies away like crows
the tricycle else it stands
yet gazes no more at the elder rise.

Copyright © 01/24/2016 lance sheridan®

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9 comments on “Who met the hundred morns

  1. rabirius says:

    Again, an excellent poem. I like the darkish atmospheres that you manage to create.

  2. Beauty is timeless, silent with its memories that linger on…
    Thank you for your gift, Lance ~*~

  3. Hello
    First of all Thanks for the follow to souravadhikari.wordpress.com
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    Sourav Adhikari

  4. […] Source: Who met the hundred morns […]

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