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Grandfather's Farm

Text of Poem

The worn scythe hangs in the box-elder tree,
The wheelbarrow lies on its side by the shed,
The grindstone tips forward to kneel on the ground,
Aged beyond use, they recall the unsaid

Promise I made when I was a boy
And worshipped Grandfather to equal some day
The skill of his hands and walk in his stride—
I look at my soft hands. What would he say?

First Line
The worn scythe hangs in the box-elder tree,
Original Pub Location
Original Publication Date
Original Citation
The Saturday Evening Post (29 Aug. 1959) 43.
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Bibliographic Notes

Publishing Error: pages 19-20 and 41-42 and incorrectly printed twice, back to back, between pages 30-31