Howard's Last Trip

The last miles of worthy tribute to one who worked and lived with acres in this and other roads in three townships, Ashford, Lomira and Byron ,
Always tilling mother earth with the highest of respect for plowing, seeding and harvesting, come what may. Howards seeds fell on good soil and his harvest now is very plentiful.

One of my poems about nature RAIN IS GOLD
It comes like sheets of sprayed mist only thicker and long enough to water mother earth.

Now listen as corn stalks snap and second crop alfalfa shoots up
gives way to making hay, watching everything spring forth
like hothouse plants

Then watch the crops come to that later time of the first ripe apple
or later on the cuke that seemed so far away that day in May