Midsummer’s Come, A poem by Chuck Kellum

The wheat is in,
The corn is high,
And the old cows graze
      on grass that’s dry.
The hay is stacked,
Haze veils the eye,
And my loyal dog
      lies idly by.

I find myself
In thoughts
        that wander
Across the fields
And roaming
Yonder,
Through pasture 
               and woods
And along the stream . . .
I lose myself 
In
      a 
          slow-
                    paced 
                                dream . . .

Midsummer’s come.
High listless sun.

And it’s time to work on the fences.


© 2013, 2017 Chuck Kellum