The Old Farmer
Jo Lady


 
He watched lines furrow into his face,
gray creep into his hair.
He felt pain grind into his joints,
sadness plow into his heart.

He heard Bad called Confusion,
Confusion called Change,
Change called Good.

Dressed in his dusty fear
he turned, once
to face Life and Death.

Life was clothed in a dazzling glare.
Death wore a solid black smile.
He chose Death;
He thought it was his friend.


©Jo Taylor
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