Homeschool

Farm Life

By Caitlyn Santi
Homeschooled Roxbury, Grade 10

My life is a farm life and even though it's just a small farm with only a few cows and horses, there is a lot of hard work that has to be done every day. Even though sometimes I get frustrated and annoyed, most of the things we do for work are actually fun. It's hard to explain to most people how work can be fun but if you're working with your family, anything can be fun. Believe it or not, one of my favorite things to do is stack hay bales. To be a good farmer you have to not be afraid of hard work or getting mud covered (because you probably will).

I have seen the sky,
The sun is held at bay,
And yet you still remain here,
So I too must stay.

I have heard the words you say,
You whisper them to me,
But yet I can not leave until,
Your safety I can see.

I have seen the future,
On a bay of sand.
I will wade into the water,
Reaching for your hand.

So I will hope that picture stays,
Inside my dreams at night.

Falling into peaceful silence,
Storm clouds in the air.
Colors from imagination,
A dreamer's sweet pine lair.

The colors stretch from head to toe,
All around they drift,
And in the breeze you can tell,
Fall spirits they do lift.

The wind rustles through my hair,
I catch it and hold it close.
I whisper a message to it sweetly,
"It's fall I love the most.

There sits on the counter, a glass half full of water. You may ask how I know this. "Couldn't it be half empty," you say. Yes, you are right, well, almost. Nobody knows whether it is half full or half empty. Nobody will answer it right, that's what I love about it. The glass can be both. Nobody is wrong, and it brings about an entirely different problem.

I feel the cold,
As it whips,
My raw hands,
And face.

The hundreds of people,
Gathered around to watch,
Are huddled.

The mud sprays,
At everyone it sees,
Everyone who sees it,
Anyone who dares approach.

My head is wet from the rain,
My boots are covered in mud,
And the remains of Mother Nature's battle.

I look for you,
And remember that you're gone,
Never to come back,

I sit on the floor,
Watching the door,
Waiting and hoping for more.

My head is sore,
As I watch that door,
Felling hopeless and poor.

I count to four,
And I watch the door,
But I hurt to the core and I still want more.

Above my head,
Glows the sphere,
Of the night,
That brightens darkness.

It is the other sun,
That guides us,
In blackness,
To lead us.

It hangs over,
The tall trees,
And gives us light,
When we have none.

Follow the moon,
Through it's trip,
Around us,
Above our heads.

It never wavers,
In it's quest,
To be,
A second sun.

It shows us,
That there is light,

I have a story. It happened several years ago when I was about 22. It is embarrassing, but I'm not ashamed of it, besides, with shame there is no laughter. With clothes, there is no full moon. And with no full moon, there is no story, and there has to be a story.

Who stares back,
At me in the glass,
And mimics,
My every move?

Am I real,
Or is she,
Who sits and stares,
Like I?

She knows exactly,
What I'm going to do,
And follows me,
To every room.

She is present,
In every shadow,
Mocking my lanky limbs,
And height.

Is she my reflection,
Or am I her's,
We who look alike,
Who cam before the other?

Who knows exactly,

No one ever told me,
What rain feels like,
When it hits your face,
Or how it tastes.

Now I know why,
Because it is impossible,
To use human words,
To describe it.

I had to find out,
For myself,
Just what it,
Was like.

That's what I did,
And I can't explain,
To make it truly count,
But I can try.

The wind blows it,
Into your face,
Sometimes it's hard to see,

I have seen the sky,
The sun is held at bay,
And yet you still remain here,
So I too must stay,

I have heard the words you say,
You whisper them to me,
But yet I can not leave until,
Your safety I can see,

I have seen the future,
On a bay of sand,
I will wade into the water,
Reaching for your hand.

So I will hope that picture stays,
Inside my dreams at night,

Falling into peaceful silence,
Storm clouds in the air.
Colors of imagination,
A dreamer's sweet pine lair.

The colors stretch from head to toe,
All around they drift,
And in the breeze you can tell,
Fall spirits they do lift.

The wind whistles through my hair,
I catch it and hold it close.
I whisper a message to sweetly,
"It's fall I love the most."