The Farm

When I am in these woods, I see the signs.

The balance. The beauty. The wonder.

The running streams through stands of pines,

The sun. The rain. The thunder.



The dew is always heavy, my boots always wet.

Morning's glory. Nature's story.  Spotted ones in tow.

Not today, no gun in hand, yet still they sense the threat.

Off they go. Flags up high, running to and fro.



Green acres, standing timber, rolling hills.

This land, Grandad's farm, someday mine.

My honor. My priveledge. A test of my skills.

My future. Our past. Nature's design.