On the way to the farm


Driving along Highway 12, I see
an occasional soaring eagle,
a hawk on the high wire,
that pair of swans serenely floating,
flock of geese above, honking their hurry,
ducks — merganser, mud hen, mallard —
now returned to lakes,
swamps, sloughs, ponds, pools,
prairie pot holes, and
red-wing blackbirds clinging to cattails,
swaying, trilling, spilling songs of spring.

[Note to readers: April is National Poetry Month. I’ll be trying to write a lot of poetry, posting a lot, good or bad or indifferent.]


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