I hedge when I say "my farm." We don't ever own, we barely rent this earth. I've even watched a boulder age, changing the texture of its mosses and cracking from cold back in 1983. Squinting, it becomes a mountain fissure. I've sat on this rock so long we celebrate together our age, our mute geologic destiny. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GARRISON by AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT JAZZONIA by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 22 by OMAR KHAYYAM SATIRE: 1. TO JOHN POYNZ (POINS) by THOMAS WYATT DO THOU LOVE, TOO! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS |