Timothy J. McBride
I walked a field of brown dry grass
By weather, sun, and not much rain.
If it were green, it would stop erosion
But there wasn’t much rain.
If there were trees, it might slow the wind
That beat the once bright red barn
Of a farm abandoned because no trees
Would grow to slow the wind or build fence
Or shade the land from the sun
That changed the grass brown.
I needed the silence.
©Copyright January 2010 by Timothy J. McBride