Farm Poem 23

//Farm Poem 23

Farm Poem 23

Was it you who
Hung a gate with
No fence and
Latched it closed,

Guarding only grass
And July heat?
Something told me
I should ask.

We’ve passed in
Our cars of course,
As close to talking
As often occurs—

Each feeling
The anxious space
Of un-gardens,
Un-fields,

And that voice,
Insisting we complete
What we don’t know
Why we started.

By | 2019-07-08T06:26:04-04:00 July 1st, 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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