What Remains

Every day grain is gathered from the silo,
silage gathered in the summer seasons,
and stored against the cold desert of winter.

Each day, there is less, and less again,
a race against time and the fickleness of weather,
against the slow draining of life, hoping

that what remains will be enough.

About this poem

I had a counselor once who often reminded me that we have to have enough positiveness in our lives to offset the negatives that drain us, that life is a balance. We can deal with tough times for a while with the balance being out of whack, but sooner or later, if we do not have things and people who replenish us, we we end up empty and our spirits will be starved, even die.

Oh yeah, it can be about silos and seasons too. The picture was taken just down the road.

Tom