Lancaster, Wisconsin

Poem

Fields of sunsets, barbed wire and twine.

Down by the creek, towered trees we would climb.

Space to roam, and run free.

Hay bails and cornfields as far as the eye could see.

Whether it be mounds of snow, or water and streams,

Growing up in the country, can’t be beat.

Catching frogs at the creek,

Smokey campfires with gooey S’more treats.

Sky filled with stars, millions to inspire,

Sunrises that set the sky on fire.

From stray cats and days at the farm,

To berry picking - simple charms.

No need for shoes, go in your bare feet.

It’s not a farm if there isn’t a border collie.

Crickets chirping, coyotes howling,

The country is all-allowing.

Rhubarb jam is for toast, Fridays are for fish,

With acres of land, I flourished.

This is the place I will always come back to,

A feeling I will always pursue.

Peace within me, gravel below,

Old Smokey Joe watching me grow old.