Yellow

A golden bale glistening in far sight,

Peeking over the edges

Of two sitting on ledges

A boy in awe of approaching light.

Father wears his sadness plainly,

The forehead crinkles

And leaves deep wrinkles

Kin migrating from yellow, too lonely

Every line, a line etched with sweat,

With long hours

And much physical power

But nothing to do with those books, I bet

Inevitable sentiments of utter loss,

Knew nothing but yellow

Like many a fellow

The land was sacred, no matter the cost.

But now that one of his own,

Has taken flight

To be erudite

He wished nothing but luck away from home.