Prairie Poetry   

Here, this is yours.
I think you misplaced
mislaid, probably
drifted off from it

while you were out
plowing up snow,
planting shards of ice,
hoping for a crop
out of nothing.

Save the effort
for these, and wait
for ground that is not
hard, not frozen
stuck to itself.


You can't just
Plant when you feel
like it. No, ma'am.
Get some sense, for
once. Gloves.

Stop bleeding on the fields.
You only upset the
rest of us.

  Elisabeth Lee
  Copyright © 2004 Elisabeth Lee
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