Soul searching

She asks me, "What is Soul?"This slim sweet woman with silvery hairWho farms the windswept prairieHer seasons brimming over withThe antidote for sense.

Winters she crafts the harmony of calico quiltsTogether with quiet stitches,Plays hymns by heart on her parlor piano,Breaks ice on the pasture pondSo the livestock can drink enough.

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Knowing their names
August 10, 1987
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