Why We Have to Just Keep Trying
I’m wondering if what’s iron in us rusts,
I’m wondering if what won’t contract just busts
in that cold
we can’t old away.
I think of my grandmother’s heavy hand-cranked pump
stumped in the yard,
how it groaned with each new use, rained
what first seemed stained
with blood, till it gushed a flood, aglow with those stars that flow
even in ground water.
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A very drafty drafty poem for Kerry O’Connor’s micro-poem (ten line) challenge with a theme of rust and gold on With Real Toads. Pic is mine.
ManicDDaily 
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