I, like farmer in his field,
Turn thoughts, like clods,
In hopes to yield...
Some harvest of ripe poetry,
As tales of romance,
History...
Or, perhaps some wisdom fine,
Encapsulated in
Precocious rhyme...
Or, perhaps it may simply be,
A crop of meaning
But to me, so...
I, like farmer, sow and reap,
Store it up,
As mine to keep...
Donovan Baldwin