House in a cornfield–
ancient stones from spears and shield
turned up by the points of the plow–
time’s forgotten yield.
Where young hunters strode with pride
along the old lake ridge…
leaving echoing footfalls,
and the odd stone tool behind.
The sandy soil and the ancient stones,
none larger than my fisted-hand,
recalls the sweet lake water
lapping the edge of the sand.
4 thoughts on “Time’s forgotten yield”
Reminiscent of a time that is not ours. That’s a creative accomplishment.
thank you, it’s a “true” story. The time frame is a bit shaky, I admit, but I have a small box of very nice artifacts.
It amazing how quickly a bit of forest can sprout up.
The “tree garden” began about 15 years ago, mostly volunteer trees. It doesn’t take long. 🙂
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