Sorry I've been away. Life, as it is wont to do, has been busy. Here's an early poem of mine (written right at ten years ago, after years of reading Wendell Berry had warped my mind) suitable for this time of the year...
The last farmer's ghost
Haunting empty fields
of overgrown weeds,
walking the rows where corn once grew
he moans and mourns the
lost season,
the hallow ground, now laying
fallow ground.
He died and no one was there to bury him
and so he haunts and walks
as he always has
this earth only dear to him
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