02-15-2015, 12:31 AM
I watch the ghosts in the evening haze
along the pasture fence.
We built that fence fifty years ago,
my back wet from driving pick and shovel,
placing the posts exactly where Grandfather pointed.
My aching fingers like broken sticks
from stretching barbed wire in perfect lines
on posts flawlessly spaced.
He towered above me.
"Build it well," he said,
"and it will last longer than we will."
A breeze swirls the ghosts and haze away
from the glistening taut wire.
along the pasture fence.
We built that fence fifty years ago,
my back wet from driving pick and shovel,
placing the posts exactly where Grandfather pointed.
My aching fingers like broken sticks
from stretching barbed wire in perfect lines
on posts flawlessly spaced.
He towered above me.
"Build it well," he said,
"and it will last longer than we will."
A breeze swirls the ghosts and haze away
from the glistening taut wire.