deepundergroundpoetry.com

Peasant

Rolling hills of the palace land outline the countryside.
The king's castle looms larger than life.
Golden wheat stalks sway gently in the breeze.
Lush green pastures go on forever,
until winter comes.
I tend to my sheep,
herding them to the east.
I sit on down on a cold wet stone.
Start to daydream as always about things more precious than gold.
I lay my old staff on the cool ground.
It was carved with a knife that was bartered for a lamb.
My cloak is all torn,
its ragged and worn.
The hat on my head is in shambles for sure,
doesn't keep rain out no more.
My fingers are sore.
My feet growing weary.
Exhaustion is nearing.
When, oh when, will this peasant life end?
AloneInMyHead
Written by AloneInMyHead
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1 reading list entries 0
comments 1 reads 427
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
SPEAKEASY
Today 8:43am by Zazzles
POETRY
Today 6:41am by Casted_Runes
COMPETITIONS
Today 00:15am by Bluevelvete
SPEAKEASY
28th January 2022 9:15pm by The-Inked-Poetess
SPEAKEASY
28th January 2022 7:04pm by Phantom2426
SPEAKEASY
28th January 2022 4:27pm by MadameLavender