Sun is casting
His powerful gong
I can hear it
Glittering so strong
Pastoral he is
Playing with soil
It’s hard to live
Without such a toil.
To continue
To exist.
Scorching heat
peeling off the bark.
The rind is hard
Still it broke.
Earth is so dry to plant.
He has not given up
The hope.
Wiping his forehead
By the sleeve of:
His shirt.
Stranger, I reach
Fascinated by the country
Where the lane of life
Is slow, though smiles
Of welcome
Pulls me with attraction
Invitation leads me
To the barn.
His sweat
Is fermented
Rancid brine filtered
Through his body.
To quench his thirst
and to shed his skin,
To protect from
The midday heat.
We now in a barn rest,
Beside the farm.
And a loitering
Peregrine
Found his friend
To talk with.
Where he is still
Spinning his living yarn
To continue life.
Blooming calluses
On his palm
Along with
Ongoing gossip
Boiling available herb
The tea is served.
The taste was
Beyond the price.
The way he lives
His rustic life.
Where the smell
Of the livestock
Was more refreshing
Than perfume.
Invigorating strong,
Inspiring moment
Of experience
Putting somewhere
Not to forget
And I am unable
To restrain my words.
While resting
In a country barn.