Farmer Grays Fields

widowed and worried
wrinkled lines of time
upon the cross of reflection
fields drenched in blood
from flowers once left
to memories of gray
faded and frayed
in the highball of life
ice melting away
the wheat lies silent
to the sickles blade
sharpened with stone
to medical precision
quarterd fillade
waiting is the grinder
to digest deep insider
feed the fields farmer gray
cars pass smile and wave
whistle a tune
feed the fields
with mrs gray