I noticed I had a mistake in the poem I just sent, so will resend it. Just ignore the first. The spelling and grammer checker wouldn't let it send with the verses intact, so I changed it some and made a mistake.
Old Rake
Just a picture of an old dump rake,
sitting long on meadow ground.
A rusty worn out old horse rake,
with tall grass grown all around.
Slow but sure, it did the job,
making windrows thick and straight.
Technology and wanting to hurry up,
It was that what sealed its fate.
The family's kids likely rode that rake
Though it seemed to take forever.
Before they each got quite big enough,
so their foot could reach the lever.
No one knows the story of that rake,
and how it came to be left there.
Perhaps they also discarded dreams,
and left that place, in despair.
As I think back along the years,
Back to when that rake was used.
My thinking brings some sadness,
of how our way has been abused
by corporations and politicians,
corroded and corrupted by greed.
If anything could bring a change,
I figure there's a bunch of folks need
To maybe experience just a bit,
of how it was in those days.
Just maybe they would get to thinking
they'd do well to change their ways.
A lot of good old country values
lie idle there with that rake.
Like sealing a deal with nothing more,
than the spoken word, and a handshake.
Been There
