My Farm Wife

by Don Thackrey

As when spring rain drums roofs and soaks the corn,
Admonishing green shoots to stand up straight,
And lets a weary farmer sleep in late,
She gives me rest. No matter how forlorn
The sheds and fences look, her smiles adorn
This run-down place and teach me to translate
My frown into her joy, to celebrate
A rose’s bloom and never mind its thorn.
I once thought love was something youth pursued,
With games, fast fun, the wink and leer and smirk,
The hunt for mating as an animal;
But with the years I’ve learned that love, like food,
Goes best at home, that both are earned through work
And gathered golden late into the fall.

Don Thackrey spent part of his life on a farm in the Nebraska Sandhills. He now lives in Dexter, Michigan, where he is retired from the University of Michigan. He has published a book on Emily Dickinson and verse in many journals and anthologies.
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Published 16 March 2010