A Farewell, Age 10

A Farewell, Age 10


by William Stafford


While its owner looks away
I touch the rabbit.
Its long soft ears fold back
under my hand.
Miles of yellow wheat bend;
their leaves rustle away
and wait for the sun and wind.

This day belongs to my uncle.
This is his farm.
We have stopped on our journey;
when my father says to
we will go on, leaving this paradise,
leaving the family place.
We have my father's job.

Like him, I will be strong all my life.
We are men. If we squint our eyes
in the sun we will see far. I'm ready.
It's good, this resolve.
But I will never pet the rabbit again.


Posted over on Poets.Org