Cotton Field

Feb morning sky
Cotton Field

I walk the gravel path
Along the field ready for harvest
The morning breeze
Catches the flags
In a steady percussion
I hear the pipes
As the tall black percheron horse
Comes into view
Pulling its flag draped wagon.

I think of the old king
On his funeral bier
A country man, a veteran of foreign wars
Whose long reign
Kept the warring factions in an uneasy peace
Knowing that at his death
His kingdom would soon divide itself
Into civil and uncivil war.

I watch as the princes of your house
Bring you to your final resting place
And I know
That for the rest of my life
I will never see a field
In full and glorious cotton
And not think of you.

**** In memory of my dear father in law, William J. Sawrey Sr. We love and miss you.

One thought on “Cotton Field

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