Twice In Thought, Fields Of Flowing Life Poem by Robert C Herrin Herrin

Can you see the road,
footsteps sinking in layered dirt.
Reds and browns of leaves
float silent over the hills.
Laboring fields sewn
break the backs of farmers, tough
while palms grip the earth
with sweat, now the currency.
A dream blown in wind.
The pinching sharp pain,
opaque in view absconded,
knows none of these tears
only to be dried
by the hot sun bearing down
on the strain of toil.
A clock's 'tick', echoes
the new currency of work
as fading aged leaves
blow silent in wind.
The cold tickle of chilled breath
flows from deepened lungs.
Voices whisper light
upon the path less taken
drowning in the rain.
Move slowly forward
to place the first step anew
within Spring's sunrise.
Calloused reminders
of vacant memories joy,
rising to change.