My Father cuts a furrow, true lines does he run, <br />My Father cuts a furrow, no horses does he own, <br />My Father cut a furrow, fields hill of grass. <br />My Fathers furrow was wisdom, this is what he had. <br />To his dying day, his gait was straight and true. <br />My Father was not a true farmer, for the city <br />Was all he knew. As Father cuts a furrow, so <br />Does his son, I am told, the wisdom my Father <br />Was to pass along lay dormant, many years, <br />put on hold. Not till I was 78 did I realize not <br />much time left, to unfold, as I too was growing <br />old, so I write my poetry using the genes and <br />wisdom passed on to me. the only way to have my <br />stories told. As Father was to cut his furrows, so <br />does his son, to carry on this wisdom to everyone. <br />God Bless his Soul. <br />2014<br /><br />chas garcia<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-father-cuts-a-furrow-2/
