The Thresher Poem by Gert Strydom

The Thresher



I remember feeding that bloody machine
while it was whining,
feeding and keeping on feeding,
hay and maize straws and Luserne
and working with an aching back
while I was but a small boy
and that thresher was carnivorous
would slice anything that it got hold of,
cutting even limbs off clean.

Tuesday, August 8, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: farm
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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom

Johannesburg, South Africa
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