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The Low Land Field
Tapestry woven with sun and sand
Threads of color splatter the land.
Bright red - dots the low land field ,
end of the season, this gift they yield.
Kneel in warm sand and dust,
Hold with care, touch with trust.
A season again had done its part,
Banquet of memories. pierce the heart.
Shadows weave, concealment they send,
Cover to the gnarled hands that bend,
And gently caress, (one by one),
the ripe, fragrant fruit - growing is done.
The sun oversees the ancient tableau
Slowly fades from the sadden view.
Forty three years, she has trod the soil
The years fade back ~ a rolling uncoil.
Three small children laugh with glee
Hold up the prize for all to see
One for the basket, a hand full to taste
Robins and blackbirds remove the waste.
Worn cracked boots shuffle through the sand
Leaving the birds, the berries and land.
Memories are clearer than the real day
Clinging so tight ~ will not slip away.
Bright red ,dots the low land field.
Lush leaves, shadows hide the yield.
Leave the spoils to those who follow.
Reed basket full, and a heart so hollow.
Kay lee kelly
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