Photograph by Faye Heffington
It seems like only yesterday,
Dad set those old posts.
Black Locust wood like stone in a way,
Years later come loose and rise like ghosts.
Dad is gone and his work is too,
Nothin' much remains of his savin' ways,
What wood stayed a lengthy course on through
Is mostly forgotten these days.
There's metal posts hammered on in the ground,
If they are pushed over or out it don't matter,
Just pick up another and drive it on down,
We're too busy to stop our run up the ladder.