Roots (an acrostic poem)

Reaching down, she scooped up a handful of the deep dark soil
Old smells of peat and fertilizer mingled with aromas of earth and moisture
Overhead, the sun poured light down, saturating the field
The seeds there were snuggling underneath their cozy brown blanket
So many people wondered why she chose to be a farmer, but this was where she had her…

Grain (an acrostic poem)

Image: news.okstate.edu/articles/agriculture/images/2021_wheat-chickasha2500.jpg

Growing rows of amber waved in the hot wind

Reaching for one of the sheathes, she pulled the kernels free

And rubbed them against each other in her hands, freeing the seeds from their husks

It released a wonderful smell of summer turning toward fall

Nodding she walked back to the farmhouse.  Tomorrow they would harvest.

Slice (an acrostic poem)

She held the knife in two hands like a samurai sword.

Looking at the watermelon, her sworn enemy, she bowed her head.

It was going to be a battle to the death, but she didn’t feel like dying tonight!

Cutting deftly, the watermelon never had a chance and soon it was bleeding chunks on her counter.

Extremely happy with herself, she popped a piece in her mouth and spit out the seeds.