This Much I Do* The pulse of April and furrows laid, past and present... copyright Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON 2016
The soil smells of promise Low spots all dried up Last year’s scruff calling for turnover Team watches me adjust the discs Shaking heads as trappings jangle Anson will take the left this year Old Caleb the right Two young uns midst And still learnin’ the trade Much too eager yet Competitive, even I call the straight and narrow Rooks above call the tune For mid-afternoon outing As clouds race merrily above
Knowing this wind is spring And the blue not a disappointment Right hand hurts With the arthritis Thankfully left still has the tug and touch Anson gets the message As if those reins were telegraph And we’re off for first acreage All the old metal squeaking with joy Father used to talk to it As I clung to his right Feeling every rock through steel seat. At the headland Caleb plants His power as fulcrum Ansen choreographs the sweep Good sports all And back we go Fine pace setting in As April gets ready to leave. Late season with those snows Hangin' on like that. But now each breath alive And God is good.
* for the prize of the high calling (Philippians 3: 13, 14)