Fields

Reflecting on the fields of life he’s sown
in proper furrows, perfect bales of hay,
he turns his mind to troubles that he’s known,
to knowledge lost and found along the way--

to seeds that spawned the crops to feed the years
in fields of every day, in rows of life--
to happiness aplenty, bitter tears,
cherished children, strong and loving wife.

The rhythms yield the lyrics, frank and terse,
in meadows of reflection, rows of time…
a harvest in a journal bound with verse,
a complicated life in simple rhyme--

in fields of thought, in rows of scribbled joy,
the older man, the youth… the little boy.

© 2006 W.D. Neighbors