Theresa Ann Moore

Idle Stillness

In the thick of tangled overgrown brush…
Are sounds of memories caught in a hush.
The land is no longer tilled for crop planting.
The old farmhouse is precariously slanting.

Time has a way of grasping and taking over.
The only thing endearing is the smell of clover.
Wildlife scampers and soars from the tall grass.
They are the only living beings who trespass.

A shrouded tractor sits idly in a thicket of twigs.
The plow blades are rusting; they no longer dig.
It is painfully sad to see the abandoned plight…
Fertile hopes and dreams have faded from sight.

6/15/07

Poem Submitted: Friday, June 15, 2007
Poem Edited: Saturday, March 12, 2011

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Comments about Idle Stillness by Theresa Ann Moore

  • Raju Krispa (6/21/2007 12:41:00 PM)

    fertile hopes those two words
    gather all said above them into
    a precise picture

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  • Edna Javelosa (6/15/2007 6:27:00 AM)

    an outstanding way to describe an old abandoned farm..

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