It’s a quadrille Monday at the Poet’s Pub, #89 in fact, and Merril has served up the word “set”. Despite some initial technical difficulties I am now all set with these 44 words.
Forestall
Seed potatoes and onion sets
his planting now mostly these
come fall he’ll gather butternuts
apple drops from straggly trees.
His old horse predeceased him
hamed collar hangs near the plow
wonders how he’ll get the wood in
to keep winter fires burning now.
Glad you smoothed out the tech difficulties. Good description of life on the farm. Staying warm in winter is a big one.
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Yep. It might be more than he can handle.
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Life sounds tough. I wonder how he’ll manage without his horse.
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Later I’ll add another 44 words and let you know. For now, hi ho hi ho it’s off to work I go.For it’s yesterday morning.
Thanks for coming by Buddy.
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I hope you’re enjoying work – yesterday or today. Whenever. 🙂
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his strength went with the leaves and
without wood or stores enough laid by
fall drifted into winter
snow sifted from cast-iron skies
his horse nuzzled him awake
he saw he’d never be without
the colt carried him away
as his fire went out
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That’s a beautifully told ending to the tale of a life ending. It sounds peaceful and without regret. Nice that he will never again be without. Thank you for finishing the story for me. 🙂
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Thank You.
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Sad, but lovely. I’m glad he has his old friend.
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lovely quadrille, life is tough for old farmers
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Thanks. Yep, it is.
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Sadness and contentment at the same time–yes, lovely. (K)
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Thanks.
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Very nice sound in this poem. You have described him well after the death of his horse.
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Thanks.
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I apologize for this VERY late response to your poem. I’ve been a bit overwhelmed lately.
Your paint such a vivid picture–he seemed very lonely, and I’m glad you let us know what happened.
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Thank you for hosting! I love quadrille, it usually stirs a poem into being, but sometimes they feel rushed. I knew this was’t finished even as I posted. So, slightly revised, and with a second quadrille in a response to Norah, now I like it. It reminds me of an old bachelor farmer who fascinated me as a young child, a friend of my father’s, a seemingly ancient old fashioned farmer who seemed to span centuries. My father and a buddy of his brought electricity to his home in the late sixties. I always wondered at the state of disrepair and ruin of the house, the horse, and the man. There was an old hound too. And yet all very much alive and full of stories I was eager to hear.
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