Poetry

~ The Unplowed Ground ~

 ‘Tis peaceful here. Elegant too.

I am served Devilled eggs,

Tea and cakes.

And so I should.

Someone cleans my room on Wednesday…

I can talk to them.

 

Driving down the road, fresh air,

Prairie is seen for miles…

I squint in my spectacles to see,

And hear my orange flag whipping in the wind.

There be the ol’ farms,

The fields of golden grain…

Once these were my fields.

Where I sowed, I reaped.

 

I watch out as cars whiz by…

I won’t let those three wheels tip me again.

Pah, seems it’s now four wheels

Everybody Else has, these days.

Last time, I could not get up.

A stranger stopped on the road.

I could not get up.

 

Was away for a time.

How hollow were the halls…

And those girls.

They don’t wear the White like they used too.

Looks like pyjamas to me.

No one came to visit.

Only those darn pyjama gals.

 

But I am back here now, and slowly on my feet.

Lord, something, something about these halls…

 

But today is the end of the month,

So I get dressed up.

A cowboy hat and sterling steel tips

On my shirt collar,

To pay my Rent at the front desk.

 

~ Irish Beth Maddock (nee Fell)

 As Published in “Songs on the Wind” Anthology of Verse by The Poetry Institute of Canada. 2003.

This poem is dedicated to and inspired by Mr. Rudy Hoover, whose ground was well plowed.

Also inspired by Hosea 10:12 (ILT):

“Plant the good seeds of virtue, morality and justice, and you will harvest a crop of Love.

Plow up the hard ground of your heart, for now is the time to seek the Lord, who is Love,

and He will shower His blessings upon you.”

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