Headlands Poem by Matt Mooney

And now I know where it all began-
I am looking up straight drills
In a tillage field below the hill
Proud of the ploughman's work,
My father's joy with a great eye
And a tight rein from end to end.

And so I find as I write each line
To parallel it with another one;
I worry about the way they run
And keep my eye on every word
Until I'm sure they run together;
It is my fear they might not rhyme
And spoil the drills to be tilled
With words from my imagination.

So when I reach each verse's end
I stop to look back down the lines-
For these horses have to be rested
On the headlands for their labours.