Grandma’s Hickory Chair

The breeze takes my breath
	as I rock myself in grandma’s hickory chair.
Sweet smell of black-eyed Susans,
	birds flit along powerlines on the county road.
Corn and sunflowers fill farmers fields, 
	surprise lilies blooming in a ditch.
Children fuss taking off school clothes,
	barefoot in puddles after a steady rain.

Soon harvest will end as the first winter frost halts the growing season.
Soon the fields will be bedding down under a warm coat of leaves,
     as I pull out the tattered quilt I made
     back when my hands were still able.

The snow will come to prepare for spring’s growth,
     when my grandchildren will rock
     in their grandma’s hickory chair.

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