Saint-Rémy Ploughman I am the ploughman for my family, And I push my father’s load. Sweat burns my blisters - Just another row to go. I hear my mother singing, While papa sleeps beside the pines. The son inherits debt and duty - Now I walk the ancient lines. No brother to relieve me - No wife to share in my strain. Never time off for a farmer, In the winter or the rain. I daydream often of a woman - No village girl with braided hair. If she truly did exist, She would never settle here. Poetry of Simon Johann Andresen © Permission to share with credit. Painting by Vincent Van Gogh, 1889 Valley With Ploughman Seen From Above (For those who know the old song, Wichita Lineman, you will see its influence.)
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 18:41:13 +0000
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