a child's poem*

the peac round
what agoodly thing
if the children of
the wold cold
dwell in peac


*poem written by 10-year-old

coming back to the mountain

white city shoes turned country brown
left those neon lights behind to have stars all around
the soil needs a'tending to and the cows gone left the barn
spending the days refinding myself while working on this here farm

it's back to simplicities with earth, water, and air
living sustainably from the abundance found everywhere
there's trout in the river, wild fruits and berries grow more than's fair
would be hard to believe any of this exists under the bright city glare

the sun reddens my neck and i can't quite get my fingernails clean
half-dead asleep in my sleeping bag, quickly falling into dreams
content with life; bushels gathered and the soil's 'bout ready for next year
discovering substance in life through hard work, sweat, and tears

yet there are still those devilish follies of the big city i like
sure enough to return after getting a'hold of this here farming life
not gone for long for coming back to the land is only what's right
travel around to converse a little knowledge and drop some insight