May You Never Grow Up
"The Words" by Gene Fowler (1965)
I carry boulders across the day
From the field to the ridge,
and my back grows tired …
I take a drop of sweat
Onto my thumb
Watch the wind furrow its surface,
Dream of a morning
When my furrows will shape this field,
When these rocks will form my house.
Alone, with heavy arms,
I listen through the night to older farms.
(an allegory on working through "writer's block")
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