Okay, this little essay was written a few years back, Today it’s a dedication to my Dad, who was a rice farmer for fifty something years before retiring. 14 years ago we lost my Dad (Heart attack. That’s all I will say for now. That was the first upside down and nightmare.)
Anyway, after reading this essay and editing once more, I can say I am finish with this essay… Unless, I find something wrong. But never know with me.
Haunted Fields
From dawn to dust
He walks the lonely fields, each day,
With his shovel over his shoulder.
He checks for anything amiss in the fields.
Those whom seen him says,
He hasn’t aged since the day
They first met him.
He, still wears his old straw cowboy hat
Blue faded long sleeves shirt and jeans.
Of course, he still wears his green hip boots.
To walk in the murky water of the rice field.
Now, a days he does not speak to many.
Maybe to those whom seen him in the per-dawn hours.
From what I have heard.
He walks in the distance rice fields.
They know it’s him by his shovel
over his shoulders.
Others seen him on John Deere tractor
plowing away in a field
and mysteriously vanish by their presence.
The only sign of him, ever being there
is the lonely distance sound
of a John Deere tractor’s whistle
fading into the sunset.
No one knows why he walks the fields.
If they did, they would have tears in
the eyes.
Maybe someday his search will be over
and he’ll finally rest.
Haunted Fields ©V. ROSE DEMET ™2013
Maybe next year, I will write about that day.
Last but not least a new little Rose bush is blooming.. Roses was my Dad’s favorite flower also. He could take a Rose branch and plant it in the ground and a few months later. The Rose bush would be growing. He had a green thumb for gardening.
Red Roses Series
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