Years of Listening

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


Anonymous said...

Lovely! Thank you for sharing it. Pam

Louise said...

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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