Original Poems

A Farm Out Here

My father worked a farm out here
To save money for college;
He met my mom that very year,
Though never, to my knowledge

Did he return here after that.
He mentioned it, but spare:
And it took Apple Maps awhile
To find this stretch of somewhere

But here I am along the lane;
The air grows sharper, crisper —
And I stand silent, out time,
And hear the phantoms
Whisper

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