poems

Poci Farm

You look out over the terraced vineyards and olive groves

of Poci and you see and feel the years of cultivation

that brought them to their present fruition.

You feel the warmth of the summer sun drawing the juice

up into the grapes, and the nip of the winter frost

threatening the tender leaves of the olive trees,

the sporadic sputter of the tractor,

the whine of the weed whacker,

the rush of the river down by the old mill,

all are part of the harmonies of husbandry.

****

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