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by Dave
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2272114
in a Ronsardian Ode
Grandpa Pete looked to sky and wondered when
the rain would come.
For years, he fought this dusty regimen
as mission's drum
kept driving him to work the arid field.
In fervent prayer, to God he appealed
for some relief
in his belief
the land could bring a worthy yield.

Last year, he finally gave up his stance
and passed away,
concluding perennial spirit dance
he had each day
with dilapidated barn, its roof caved in.
The rotting walls remain through thick and thin
for all to see
in memory
of Grandpa and his steadfast grin.


Notes
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2272114-Grandpa-Pete