So much life and beauty
erected from the soil,
like rolling golden hills
of wheat or hay-
each grain significant,
each grain so fragily placed
like a seventeen year old friend
moving on from love
only to find love killed herself
playing their favorite song
with her daddys' gun
like two young men
who got into cars
that never made it home
like a funeral
a brother attended,
only to be murdered
shortly thereafter
or the child
long expected
born still,
forever missed
like those stacked bailes of hay,
suddenly crumbling to the ground
by the side of the road
no explaination to be found...
only circumstance
like rolling fields
of wheat or hay
each grain significant,
each so fragily placed.
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