Sculpted Girl Poetry
Quiet Man
A quiet man
Worn leather boot
A plaid shirt
And an ole pair of
Green suspenders
Holding up
His favorite pair of
Work pants
A straw hat
Donned on top
A slight shuffle as he walked
He moved along with a slight limp
Takes each step surely
With his trusty cane in hand
His specs perched high on his nose
He always wore
His handmade wooden pair
He claims his sight is 20-20
Although his bumps tell a different story
He shuffled outta town
Before one could blink an eye
He went back to his homestead
Where he was happy and carefree
Although he could`t work his open land
He walked it every day
Reminiscing in the olden days
The fresh leather
The team prancing
Ready to begin its day
The bells atop
Jingle, in the soft air
He grasps the reins
In his ole work hands
A soft tap of the reins
A soft whisper
To giddy up
The pair gracefully
Step in unison
To mark the start of the day
The ploughed rows
Neatly to the perfect depth
The earth roll over
Like a row of dominoes
As they make their walk
All day long!
They step along
The rows tightly squeezed
Too many rows-
Side by side
To count
From time to time
You`d hear him call
A quiet whoa
As they stop in unison
For him to dry
His sweaty brow
As the sun goes down
He calls it a day
He brings his team to a halt
Looks across his days`work
Lovingly smiles
With those hazel eyes
And is dazzled
By the work that`s been done
By his `team``
With their heads bowed low
Waiting for tommorrow
To begin the next furrow
Now only memories
As he looks out
Over the open fields
Stands the quiet man
With his head bowed
A tear slides down
His windblown face
There`s no trace
Of horses working
This fine spot
It saddens him
Those days are done
They might be done
But when he closes his eyes
He`s happy and carefree
Walking each row
The quiet man!
Worn leather boot
A plaid shirt
And an ole pair of
Green suspenders
Holding up
His favorite pair of
Work pants
A straw hat
Donned on top
A slight shuffle as he walked
He moved along with a slight limp
Takes each step surely
With his trusty cane in hand
His specs perched high on his nose
He always wore
His handmade wooden pair
He claims his sight is 20-20
Although his bumps tell a different story
He shuffled outta town
Before one could blink an eye
He went back to his homestead
Where he was happy and carefree
Although he could`t work his open land
He walked it every day
Reminiscing in the olden days
The fresh leather
The team prancing
Ready to begin its day
The bells atop
Jingle, in the soft air
He grasps the reins
In his ole work hands
A soft tap of the reins
A soft whisper
To giddy up
The pair gracefully
Step in unison
To mark the start of the day
The ploughed rows
Neatly to the perfect depth
The earth roll over
Like a row of dominoes
As they make their walk
All day long!
They step along
The rows tightly squeezed
Too many rows-
Side by side
To count
From time to time
You`d hear him call
A quiet whoa
As they stop in unison
For him to dry
His sweaty brow
As the sun goes down
He calls it a day
He brings his team to a halt
Looks across his days`work
Lovingly smiles
With those hazel eyes
And is dazzled
By the work that`s been done
By his `team``
With their heads bowed low
Waiting for tommorrow
To begin the next furrow
Now only memories
As he looks out
Over the open fields
Stands the quiet man
With his head bowed
A tear slides down
His windblown face
There`s no trace
Of horses working
This fine spot
It saddens him
Those days are done
They might be done
But when he closes his eyes
He`s happy and carefree
Walking each row
The quiet man!
