Furrows

We were borne
through fields of corn
by tan but tender feet
three young boys
just making noise
and eager to compete

we would run
just for fun
and sometimes we would race
but no one cared
how they fared
for we were in our place

our country home
where fertile loam
and gnarly limbs of wood
could nurture us
without much fuss
we really had it good

till roots were torn
and ties were shorn
and we were forced to move
from innocence
to indigence
an age inducing groove.