Comments about Amos Fraccica
Uh Oh! Off they go!
Marching to the gentle rye.
Golden glimmering in the sun
Lighting up their eyes.
To their purpose.
Singing, swinging, humming kindly.
Delicate fingers stroking softly.
Leading, listening, playfully proceeding
Past the unheeding rye.
'If a body meet a body, comin' through the rye.'
The light is gone, is there anything wrong?
Blank stare, is there anyone there?
Dead to the rye.
Past and down the sweeping hills
And over the precipice.
Oh! The blissful song has ended.
Gone are the children daftly...