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Brown fields
The trees stand as soldiers
the branches bayonets that creak.
The trees are waiting for the sun shine
They are patient, happy and celebrating
the birth of new flowers.
Suddenly magic appears
The field looks like gold.
There are lemons everywhere.
It smells so sweet,
But beware of sour tasting pulp.
Green and golden fields
Turn gold then dry and brown.
The trees so green,
So big, the fruit
So juicy, so heavy and ripe
The farmer puts sticks under the drooping branches.
Some of the fruit gets too ripe,
falls to the ground and rots.
Fruit is picked off the tree<
Put into bins and shipped
To the packing houses.
At the packing house
They are packed into boxes,
And shipped by truck, ship, and airplane
To all parts of the world.
Poem
written by Allen Grade 4
Poem inspired by In My Mother's House by Ann Nolan Clark
Alta Elementary School
Reedley, CA
-- May 2000 Allen's AmericaQuest Drawing
