Potato Picking Poem by john appleby
Potato Picking
Numb earth,
breach the loamy banks and lift
the clean white harvest from the
dark tilth.
Every year, I swear the soil will yeild
a less punishing crop,
but each year I trench the fields
and sink my shaft,
lifting the ripe flesh of the common man,
into sunlight.
Friday, January 2, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: nature
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5/4/2024 1:13:33 AM # 1.0.0.1119
