Summer of ‘12

| 03 Jan 2019 | 01:45

Acres, twenty Six mouths to feed. I plow and harrow, seed interred The kids, too small to aid Wife weak, in flesh and will. Yet I am hard, sun-tempered. ‘12 was bad Sandy, then Irene My fields are a lake And my dreams cadavered Autumn ensues. Alms proffered, none taken My aim falters not, felled venison provides The spring, new dreams And want shall fade. For now… By Robert McGrogan Westtown NY