Ranchers Ghost Poem by Cree Stewart

Hands once made out of steel
and the skin that used to peel
It cracked on a cold winters day
when he didn't wear gloves to throw the hay
It loosely blew though the air
as he thinks it isnt fair
To stand out in the freezing cold
and find the hay full of mold
The day has gone so slowly now
as he starts the tractor, getting ready to plow
Plow the over grown pastures
that he once used to master......
The weeds have grown over the hot wire
and the ditches havent been burned with fire
for a while, the garbage now, has piled
and his will has just been filed