Friday, March 31, 2017

9339. LITTLE UNITS IN THE SUN

LITTLE UNITS IN THE SUN
Glinting like weevils on a cotton-spiked gin,
the landscape is dotted with something. Fireflies
at 7pm on a just-right evening couldn't be any
better than this. I want to learn and listen.
-
The farmer comes down from his new
tractor, proud and hale, dealing a bale.
So many are the things I love; so 
many are the things forgotten.

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