Prairie Poetry        Peer Award
Furrows Plowed

Furrows plowed in valley loam
are not as dark as is her hair,
and pride itself is not as proud
as is the one who holds the comb.

Yet her mama's hair was just as black,
and laid as long upon her back
though fixed, it was, into a braid--
the difference then that fashion made.

And so each season does retreat,
and furrows plowed give up the wheat;
and a grooming girl will come to know
why her mama's hair is as white as snow.

  J.D. Heskin
Copyright © 2000 J.D. Heskin
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