Years of Listening
I like to see men leaning on a fence,
Exchanging news of friends, some town affair;
Discussing rain and crops, or sale of mare,
The needed tractor, wages, and expense.
Their lips are firm and speak with common sense.
Hat-brims shoved down against the hot sun's glare,
They stand with easy grace, tough-thewed and spare,
And argue out the trend of world events.
They chew on thoughts and meditative straws,
While dusty pickups wait, hub-deep in clover.
The world is in good good hands when men still pause
To rest beside a fence and talk things over.
What wisdom must be stored in those old rails,
With years of listening in their weathered nails!
by Margaret Grahame Collins
2 comments:
Lovely! Thank you for sharing it. Pam
I love this poem.. reminds me of the many times I saw my hubby and neighbor leaning over the hood of the truck chatting away.. My hubby would look up, wink at me and ask me to make a pot of coffee and then they would move from the truck to the kitchen table... if I hadn't been out helping fix the machinery I would probably have a plate of bran muffins sitting there for them. I miss those days.
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