Thursday, October 22, 2015

Filling The Silo

by Joyce Lorenson

from every farm
up and down the valley
the long drawn out whine
of corn choppers
still air in
a state of fermentation
flurries of fodder fall
from the auger
a ripe liquor drains
from the trembling chute
the season's harvest
from the cows
a flush of fresh milk


  1. This poem reminds me of my grandfather's barn. I was never there when the silage was made, but its odor filled the barn when I stood inside in the deep shadows watching my uncle milk the Guernsey.

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