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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Family >> ID #1244319 |
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Wheat penny
for Gary McPike III, at 4 years of age Waves of wheat: green, pale green, golden bend to the winds of inflation; this one cent will not buy you much; better save it for the bread of life, of wheat grain growing, your wheat hair blowing in the wind; no government can devalue you; but this paltry cent minted before your grandparent's time is all you'll have of Nineteen- Forty- Five. It's all you'll need when Lincoln speaks from copper lips of God and Trust while markets spin the price of wheat: up one cent, down one cent, like waves of heat, like wind that blows through sweetgrass hair. © Kåre Enga Author's note to self: [164.17] 28 March 2007. A 'wave' poem. Not exactly this type of wave " Waltz Wave" sweetgrass: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sweetgrass Edited from entry in blog "L'aura del Campo"
© Copyright 2007 Kåre Enga en Costa Rica (UN: enga at Writing.Com).
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