THROUGH BARBED WIRE FENCES
Old barns, cow herds and rolls of hay;|
Corn crops shorn now, 'bout a foot high.
Snow is fallin' ; we're drivin' today,
So much to see with the naked eye !
Acres and acres of hilltop places;
Deep down gulleys too steep to climb.
Amish buggies, the horses in traces;
Kentucky in Central Mountain Time.
Flea markets on the side of the road,
Tables set up, it's a sellin' spree !
Yard sales everywhere--goods to unload,
Somethin' you need at each one you see !
Here, there are lots of pickup trucks drivin';
They get you up and down these hilly roads.
It's farmland--trucks are needed for survivin',
Hardly ever empty, always carryin' loads.
On every road, most of the sights you see,
Have ageless beauty through barbed wire fences.
Country in Kentucky--great place to be;
Everyone proud--got no defenses !
My ramblin' thoughts as we ride the road,
Eyes busy lookin' at the sights around.
I remember spring and the sights it showed,
But I love Kentucky with snow on the ground !
Linda Vale Martin © January 8, 2011
© 2011 Moonchild
(All rights reserved)