Wheezing Pump
A long handled pump years before
Was dressed in bright factory red
Its spout offered water on demand
Before the long ago time had fled
As a sweet boy of freckled face
Moved the pump handle to wheezing
Scuffed of shoes and loose of lace
‘Twas early morn as sun was breaking
Cows and all others knew the sound
Lifted heads and twitched their ears
Came to the pump and stood around
No better friend in those yesteryears
Dawns and sunsets and days all pass
Fallow fields and weathered barns
Old school is closed as are the books
Fallen rail fences and fallen farms
Wasp nests find the old pumps mouth
Green rain frogs lay flat on leaves
Brown rust has found a place to wear
The well is dry no work to wheeze
In the water trough the minnows swim
Many song birds drink and seem to call
All wonder to see the sweet boy again
With the passing of winter spring and fall
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See the pump on from my home page. It inspired me to write this poem.
