Mr. Wes Piercy

Massey Ferguson tractor well worn from years of work and
greased a thousand times to keep her going the seat is
long gone replaced by a faded fancy cushion in elegance
You know that tractor like the back of your hand indeed
You know every step of this land that you have toiled

Opening the packet of broccoli seeds with planting stick
the one your grandfather used his fingerprints now yours
the one that keeps you connected to them and to this land
Your getting on now but never lost your blue eye twinkle
Of all the men here you seem the most contented at home



I come home to myself when I am standing in your field
with the soft warm south wind blowing across the face
I want to linger here all day for only to remember yesterday
When I was as contented as you seem to be at home

Your getting on now and when you visit the graveyard to
pay respects to your mother your resting relations you
wonder if your coming or going and how soon you will
resting your tired bones in that cool earth you so love
where you will become a particle of all that is and will be