A FARMHOUSE

The farmhouse
stands alone
proud and scarred

A hundred summers
and a hundred winters
testing its resolve

One stalwart maple
hovering over the house
like a protective mother

And as storm clouds
roil the western sky,
foretelling yet one more crisis

the heart of that farmhouse
beats raw and warm
like the soil beneath it.

The floors creak, windows rattle
like the tired bones
of an old farmer

but the roof is intact,
the walls are solid
and the heart strong.

From the back porch
you can see the crops sway
like languid ballerinas

as the elderly couple
settle into their rockers
in the nurturing lap of the farmhouse.

BUTTERFLY WINGS

You are like a butterfly
in the palm of my hand

I purse my lips to blow,
not like a violent gust,
but with a soft sigh,
like a gossamer breeze
scampering over a Tahitian beach

It lifts your wings with a feathery touch
that enables you to alight from my palm
and flutter away to your destiny
as I cheer your graceful liberation