Mow

Mow

As a child we had
Scythes and Sickles

But we didn’t use them

They just hung on nails
in the garage

Silent
Anachronistic
Magnetic

Still able
but worthiness superseded
by the Pains and Privileges
of Progress

Then comes a day
one Glorious
Magical day
when a Motorcycle appears

And of a sudden
the Sickles
and Scythes
become worthy
once more
with Purpose
and Promise

The Field out back
where the Old Barn
Shrugged & Sighed
would become a Venue
for Motorcycle Adventure
and Derring-do

But first had to come
The Sweat and
The Sacrifice
And the Hardening of soft hands

For The Way
had to be
Cleared

 
 

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About Kurt Brindley

He is tall but he hopes to accomplish more in life than just that...
This entry was posted in Photography, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

12 Responses to Mow

  1. booguloo says:

    It drew me in like a magnet. Thanks for sharing.
    11 years OS1 frocked Michael Yost Medically retired

    Like

  2. Class write mate, epic grade and runs a nice story to boot

    Liked by 1 person

  3. mojoshawn says:

    I really enjoy this poem. Cool wallpaper you have up as well, my Friend!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Grace says:

    “love” the “derring- do” part

    Liked by 1 person

  5. michelevenne says:

    Thank you for liking my post. You are quite prolific, your words make a reader pause and think. Thank you for that, too.

    Liked by 1 person

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