Farm Poem 13

//Farm Poem 13

Farm Poem 13

Soft, the snow of blossoms
Petaling the walkway,

The wake of a wedding train
Purling the soldier course,

Color, forsythian fireworks,
Redbuds frothy, raspberry frappe

Bronchioles of lilac
Sighing scent

Dogwood baby’s breath
In the foreground afterthought

And there, bifurcated gardeners,
Cattle tearing the soil

In great calamitous chunks,
Dirt-eaters, stone-lickers,

Rooting their skulls against
The raw ground

Until their faces grow masked
With slick clay,

Bacchanal, fierce, eruptive,
Pawing pasture to pieces

Scraped skyward only to fall
On spines, scapulae,

Raising their tails,
Jetting fecund streams of

Feces, flung far,
As far as far,

Splattering and splashing
Leaves and grass,

Ignoring the flowers
And gorging instead

On violets, dandelions,
Garlic mustard with

Phosphorescent blossoms,
Lessons their mothers taught

Them long ago about,
What, precisely, was what.

By | 2019-04-22T21:53:21-04:00 April 22nd, 2019|Farm|0 Comments

About the Author:

Forrest Pritchard is a full-time sustainable farmer and New York Times bestselling author, holding a BA in English and a BS in Geology from William & Mary. Smith Meadows, his farm, was one of the first “grass finished” operations in the country, and has sold at leading farmers’ markets in the Washington DC area for two decades. Pritchard's books have received starred reviews from The Washington Post, Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, NPR, and more.

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