Fire shrimp

~scratch and grain~

every morning, before the sun appears
a farmer's dreams of sheep and shears,
is abruptly interrupted by a forced screech
the regal rooster, making his morning speech
the worn old farmer stretches his bones
his bed is dusty and used, it creaks and groans
he shuffles to his wardrobe, groggy as can be
it's pitch black out, looking forward he can't quite see
his children have left him, his wife in tomb
his family never leaves him, they linger and loom
he is a normal man, with normal attires
to lead a normal life is all he aspires
after a normal breakfast, he heads on out
walking with a hobble, due to his gout
but the animals are his priority, his well-being is second
"without me, they would drop dead" he has often reckoned
milking the cows with a calloused, yet tender hand
he has been here decades, on this land
his wisdom is extensive, on all facts and matters
from pleasing a woman to fixing ladders
he strides out of the milking barn, one objective checked off
"now on to 'em chickens" he smiles with a cough
his flock of chickens are next, patiently waiting
he loves these birds, they get his top rating
his pride and joy, they get a homemade treat
kitchen scraps and love, nothing else can beat
he admires his flock for a minute or two
but he pushes off, there is much to do
a passerby may brush him off as a simple, lonely being
but there is a loving, devoted side that no one is seeing
for he lives for his land and his creatures
the setting sun outlines his chiseled features
he ponders the day, and shambles up to his den
he will get a sound night of sleep, so that the cycle will start again

A quite forest, serene and lush
despite a bird call here and there, all is hush
but distantly twigs can be heard snapping
quick tiny footsteps tapping
a rushing boy comes into sight
a smile plastered on his face, he's pure delight
he approaches a tree house, modest with wear
but it is his sanctum, his den, his lair
the boy scurries up the ladder and opens the door
his nest is before him, he sits on the floor
toys, crafts and pictures are scattered around
he knows it so well, where things can be found
he is ready to start his endeavor
he tunes out the outside, his senses he must severe
first he grabs a cowboy hat, and preps for battle
he closes his eyes and finds himself on a saddle
outfitted in spurs and plaid, desert sun on his face
one hour he fights bandits, the next he's in space
batting at Fenway, jousting for the round table
he's in his own story, his own fable
he can do whatever he wants his will is so strong
his thoughts are endless, but the day grows long 
suddenly he opens his eyes
it is dusk out, he must be on his way
he gathers his things, he will be back the next day
"see you soon!" his call reverberates against the brush
and he hurries away in a rush
all is silent again
and the sun sets on his little den
but the next day the child is nowhere in sight
all day no sign of him, then it turns night
was he home sick, or on vacation
how could he go without his daily creation?
but he's different now.... he's changed
and the tiny hut has been exchanged
in no time a month has passed
the fort is faded now, but it was built to last
many years later, in shambles and decay
a teenager and his friend are walking on their way
one of them glances at the decrepit shack
he stares at it and tries to think back
but the memory is shrouded and distant
the boy shrugs it off, but the thought is persistent
the two walk away
never to come back that way
months still, and the house lays forlorn
it very essence tattered and torn
until one sunny day, the calls of the forest are broken
sounds can be heard, sounds being spoken
a boy and his father come up from a mound
the two are striding, looking for something to be found
the shack comes into view, the boy becomes quite as a mouse
"look son, haven't you always wanted a tree house?"