Poem: “The Farmer”

Old and tired

he trudges his way

out the door

his shoulders droop

as if from a great burden

his eyes are distant blue

 

Ask him about the past

and he’ll say, “we all make our choices.”

I wonder if he thinks:

“I regret mine.”

 

But you would never know it

 

Gray is the hair

that peppers his scalp

white is the color of his beard

 

Brown is the color

of the wrinkles

under his eyes

the tired bags there, are purple

 

he lugs all these colors

with an air of sadness

I think of Eeyore

his sad tired way of speaking

 

I think of hard work

and many years gone

and I want to slump along with him

 

Brown and black are the colors

of the stains and scars

on his fingertips

twenty years of hard work

etched forever in his skin

 

But amongst the gloom

his laughter breaks

a sunshiny yellow

a deep belly laugh

with the occasional snort

 

It’s good to have a sense of humor

in a tired life

because life

doesn’t always turn out how you want it to

 

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