Farmhand And Tourist Poem by Neil Crawford
Farmhand And Tourist
He walks through clouds while watching hawks
in the course of his working day.
Surefooted as the goats he tends, he treads
the steepest inclines with aplomb.
From under vital brim his shielded eyes squint out
as he guesses at our packaged, humdrum lives.
Our coach departs and he shakes his head,
I am sure I see a pitying smile.
He returns to his flock as I begin the long trek home,
back to Monday morning desk and pointless paperwork.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/27/2024 7:09:35 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I work outdoors a lot and people always tell me they would love all the fresh air and the suntan by May that I invariably display. See me in February. I reply. I like this look into different viewpoints. You are obviously a thinker and observer.