Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Arrowheads



We may buy us an A-frame
on Jericho Road,
where few that pass by are strangers,
near that little clutch of houses
called Greer, for those who farmed
the land 200 years.

In the bottomland by the Mohican,
the corn shocks stand dry and mute.
They used to hunt here, but they are gone.
We now and then kick up an A-shaped flint.

Sometimes at dusk 
it is easy to think
that the shocks are silent, 
ancient watchers,
but they are gone now
who once walked this land
and took the deer
with bow and arrow.

There once was a man 
who hunted on our posted lands,
and when another came,
his license on his back,
this man complained.
"He seems to think,"
laughed Alice Greer,
"that in Knox County
all the deer are his."



2 comments:

Debra said...

Love this! You have such a talent with words! God bless and have a great day!

KathyA said...

What a lovely poem!