I want to go to the bayou again
With Grandad in summers at home
For seed time down in the bottom land
When we blackened the stubble with silver-laid loam.
I want to spring out in tall grass at dawn
And smell the ripe clover in dew
And hear that bold redwing burst into song
And feel the wake of the earth up my shoe.
I want to trail home thirsty at night
Burnt dark by the simmering sun
And relax with a draught from the cold water well
Laughing at stories that Grandad would tell
And smiling inside that the planting is done.
Jerome L. McElroy
*Accepted in Tucumcari (1997)