I was a hired hand for the day,
working hard to earn my pay.
I was helping an old farmer put up his hay.
The old farmer and his wife were gracious and kind.
They invited me in for a break for my body and mind.
We sat at the kitchen table for a rest and a talk.
Then the farmer\u2019s wife sat before me a glass.
She said \u201cCareful son, don\u2019t drink it too fast,
that\u2019s Dandelion wine, and it\u2019ll kick your ass\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After the break was over and my glass was empty,
it was back to work and back outside for me.
There was more hay to haul, out to the field I was bound.
Upon the tractor I did attempt to leap,
but I missed the step and I hit the ground.
From my right forearm I could see the blood begin to seep.
A nasty scrape, nothing more,
feeling quite numb from the wine,
and a dizziness like I\u2019ve never felt before,
I climbed onto the tractor more carefully this time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Away we went, the tractor , the wagon, and me.
Headed out the gate,
it was already getting late,
had to get the hay in before it was too dark to see.
But on the way through the gate, I hit the post.
The fact that the gate was 12 feet wide hurt the most.
Returning with a load from the field,
to the old farmer my sad story I had to yield.
He looked at me, a young man of fifteen,
with a laugh he said \u201cNo more Dandelion wine for you,
not until you\u2019re at least going on eighteen\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The following day,
I was back there again, not to put up hay.
I had a gate post to fix,
the price to pay for my antics.
Taking half the day to dig a new hole,
and put in the post with the fill just right,
I was all tuckered out being up most of the night.
I had a horrible headache and was sick as a swine.
Believing from right now,
never again to drink that Dandelion wine,
being thankful this time,
I survived somehow!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was a hired hand for the day,working hard to earn my pay.I was helping an old farmer put up his hay.The old farmer and his wife were gracious and kind.They invited me in for a break for my body and mind.We sat at the kitchen table for a rest and a talk.Then the farmer\u2019s … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2943","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pa867U-Lt","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2943","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2943"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2943\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2944,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2943\/revisions\/2944"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2943"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2943"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2943"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
After a successful career as a Senior Engineering Designer working with international mining companies, William David is retired and living in Tucson, Az. He likes spending time now devoted to his passion: writing poetry. William writes for his pleasure and the pleasure of those who might read his poems.<\/em>
He has recently been published in three journals, the poem “A Dead Horse Fantasy” was published in Underwood and \u201cBelle\u2019s Saloon\u201d in True Chili, as well as \u201cOn Hold\u201d, \u201cI Never Judge\u201d, \u201cFreestyle\u201d, and \u201cEarly Morning Sunlight\u201d in Rue Scribe.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"