. . .of Tractors and Grandpa's
All used up
Writer's note . . . I dedicate this feeble offering to all of the grandpa's and owners of the old tractors in my readership and what they both stand for and mean to me. Kenneth
Once, many days ago, I was new. And he was too
Sowing the seeds to a life so new. I was loved. He was too.
I was needed then. They talked to me for we were friends.
Their children were children. Now they are men.
From daylight slumber, I hauled his wire and lumber
I was strong, ever alert, never tiring --never a slumber.
We talked days numbered and cold; men weak and men bold;
Tales ne’er told with lies of gold.
Broken hearts, broken bones, and souls lost to their roles.
I watched him walk the most missing the step he had lost
Carrying the feed, sowing his seed, never touching his pantry’s cost.
Apples red, confidence dead, and I stood young at his side
Taking it all, tilling ‘til fall, and he so worn that he squawled.
My color was fading, and his was too.
We turned the soil while he laughed at the toil.
And kept vowing her secret so true.
Now I am old and he is too sitting still staring at you.
I remember his day, when she faded away
Leaving me to build and remember his ways.
The dark has fallen, she is still calling for broth, shawl and brew.
Time ticking by, dim eyes kissing his sky so blue.
All alone, Now that he’s gone. And tomorrow I will be too.
My toil is over
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