The Abandoned Field (A Modified Terza Rima) Poem by Chris Embrick

His house a pile of rubble, stones
A secret man not much for talk
My neighbor near who died alone

Twice I passed his field each day
A piece of land beside my own
A sloping field in wild array

Once lush and green behind the gate
Years I desired, though out of greed
The eyesore next to my estate

The land I thought not worth the weeds
Still I bid fair the day it sold
For its acres I had no need

But for my daughter's sheer delight
A place to dance with butterflies
Under Autumn skies sunny, bright

The mem'ries dear when I grow old
My field of weeds bloomed flowers gold.