The Farmer's Wife's Wisdom

A late entry as I was spirited away today

To be a chauffeur to my wife and her girlfriends

On a visit to Blake Farm Craft centre.

Is it the sun

The way it rises

And traces the horizon

Before breaking away,

Souring higher

Suspended in expectation

Of its fiery golden glory

Being recorded,

Written about in missives,

Generating a rebirth

In lyrical muse,

With optimistic intent

At its very heart,

Right from the start.

Or is it the sky,

With its hue of spring blue

Spreading overhead,

An artist’s wash,

A background

To the beauty of the landscape,

A reflection mirrored

In the sparkle

Of her eyes,

As she catches sight of me

Sitting in the shadow

Of an old barn,

Sharing a cup

And having a yarn,

With a walnut faced

Farmer’s wife,

Who knew a thing or two

About getting through.

She said I was a lucky man

And must always

Do the best I can

To nurture my love,

As the seeds I plant

On well tended earth

Will grow deeper roots,

Bear the finest fruits

And provide all

A man would ever need

To enjoy his life,

A generous,

Healthy crop,

And the bountiful gift

Of a sweet and tender

Loving wife.