This poem was inspired by my childhood. Grandpa had an old tractor with iron tires, which he would stop and let me play on , when I was with him during his chores.. Published in Rope and Wire, March 2014
Tractor Stop
recruited to babysit,
my grandson accompanied me,
on the drive to check the cows,
he was quite bored until his eyes fell on the rusty old tractor,
parked in the weeds and trees.
he and grandpa had to stop,
we walked over through the weeds,
lifted him into the iron old tractor seat,
his eyes positively gleamed,
through the years that became our stop,
time worked into the schedule,
I would smoke a pipe,
and he would pretend to drive,
the old rusty tractor,
probably seems a little thing,
but few times mean more to me,
than my grandson's tractor stop.
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