The Last Vestiges Of Rural America (POEM)
Subtle beauty are the views across rural America,
Like a canvas of dynamic paint,
Rustic elegance of a time long gone,
Slipping away through our fingers,
Restless barnyards full of sounds,
Baby lambs, little kids and chirping chicks.
Now turning into whispers,
Like echoes of the past.
Oh, are the memories of rural America.
We catch a glimpse driving by,
On our sprinted yet poetic Sunday drives.
Old barns tucked neatly behind even older farm houses,
They beg us all to take note,
While we scurry on.
Cracked and parched;
Calling on America to awaken.
Silent yet stirring these cries are.
Hoping to spur memories
Of where America came from;
Before the last vestiges
Of rural America are gone.
Hard winds blow,
Like urban minds twisting sideways.
Turning life on the farm,
Big mono-culture everything,
Whitewashing the vibrancy that is.
Last vestiges of rural America,
Please remember us and make us
FIll our farmhouses with your children’s voices.
Stock our barns with your young stock.
Run in our fields and turn our soil.
Let us feed your loved ones.
Become community again.
We will feed you,
Until your bellies long no more.
Love us once more and we will love you back,
Ten fold and beyond.
Please remember us,
And make us your home.
~ L. Davis, #thepoetfarmer
A writing I worked on this morning trying to capture the feeling I get from looking at pastoral America and hearing the cry of rebirth that calls on young and old alike to rebuild our old farms and bring nostalgic rural/pastoral America back to life.