Spring-Soft Rain

The land was Spring-soft from the rain,
father wrapped plastic bags around his knees.
April 19th is the first day of planting in Maine.
Into the fertile soil went onions and peas.

Kneeling in the chilly damp garden he toiled,
placing the precious seeds in rows of threes.
His worn Dickie's work pants permanently soiled,
"just one more row and I will rest," he decrees.

Warm spring sun beats upon his faded felt hat,
weathered brow bathed by a fresh cooling breeze.
Another baby pea goes into the ground with a pat,
and a prayer of thanks for rain and pollinating bees.

The land was Spring-soft from the rain.
Into the fertile soil went onions and peas.