Grandfather's Farm

 


Grandfather's Farm
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Land overgrown with the stumps of the stubborn dead,
Tangled blankets of ivy, buzzing with insect life.
Piles of mossy stones where there were once walls
There lies a tumble-down green house, paint flecked metal
No glass left unshattered, torn or taken by time.
Weed trees by the acre, years of work for an axe.

Witches fly over at night, casting spells and cantrips,
A phenomenon know and much discussed in the county.
In the morning, if it rains, strange moans and yelps,
Echo across the valley, brooding and ominous
Loud when heard lying in bed, but by the time,
Coat and boots are donned, the land is silent once more.

Grandfather's name carries weight down in the village,
I am content to be barely my own man.
Living here can be a blessing or a curse,
It's good to stand in certain places at certain times.
The tasks of the day I carry out in random order,
Do the people down there feel as trapped as I do?