The grassed land yields

to the spades sharp edge.

It has been many a year

since this soil was last laid bare

and now as the upended sods

are lain on their backs

so that the turf lies buried.


I smell the earth’s sweetness

and feel a light breeze

touch the back of my hand,

the sun on the hill line

reminds me of the time of day

and a chill begins to cool

the sweat on my back.


Before gathering the tools

I stop and stand straight

old Oaks in the woods

loose their brown leaves.

to lie on the woodland floor.

The fluttering clattering fall

shatters the day’s quiet.


Young Oaks on the field edge

sway, waving gently

holding their leaves tight

waiting for the warmth

of a late spring day

as if unwilling to relinquish

memories of summer, of youth.


A thought of children

now. And another

encircling year begins.

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