Reflections: On the Farm. (formerly Season of Cow Smells); draft #2

I walk past buildings lean empty wood
lower levels diffused with dung and dirt
these buildings 200 or more years old
painted now pale red dozens of times over,
but still hoary-marked rosette
white and red and dapple green,
and sheep sometimes for lawnmowers.

Flaky paint half-covers the corncrib
ripped-almost apart by the tides of wind and weather and seasons gone by.

Iron rings against metal triangle
and mother calls the six of us to dinner.
Family called now to meal part made by an acre now come full
of cucumber, peas, green beans, pumpkins, corn, and so many that the mind loses count.

Prunes, cherries, pears. A grape vine for my daddy's homemade wine:
I stomped that wine foot over foot
and many years later drank that wine.
puckered lips that soon gave way to mirth and merriment.