Furrows in the aching brow.
Furrows in the wakening earth.
Both scored deep by the power of the plough.
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Furrows.... Lifelines, my friend. The lines that the act of living leaves upon us. I have more lines around my eyes than a London road atlas so I can identify with the sentiments within this lovely piece of introspection.
It just shows that there is a subject for everything. This is what we do in our writing group, throw in a few words and what comes out of it makes our poems. I particularly admired your inward and outward vision of furrows... dug, dark and lifted to aired, turned and shifted. A nice piece to plonder over....10 Karin Anderson