Tuesday, September 18, 2018

country ways


by horace p sternwall



the lamp burned in my little room
above the silent stable
i looked out in the winter gloom
as well as i was able

no bird disturbed the brooding night
or horses hoofed the road
no angel at the window
offered to share my load

*

in an icy wintry blast
as the snow was falling fast
i went out to milk the cow
and tripped over the plow

that the lazy hired man
who since the world began
had been sleeping on his feet
without missing a beat

had left there in the gloom
to hasten me to doom
and he laughed in his dream
floating down a shady stream

where an apple cheeked lass
winked at him as he went past
and i lay in the mud
in the mud, in the cold mud

*

silas martin picked an apple
but didn't feel like eating it
sarah jenkins shook a rug
but didn't feel like beating it

everything that moves
moves at its own pace
sometimes nothing moves at all
upon the earth's dark face



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