THE RED WHEELBARROW
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In a ditch in the country,
while taking a ride,
I see a red wheelbarrow
propped on its side.
The wheel is all rusty,
the handle broke free,
but it looks like a chariot
waiting for me.
My hands on the wheel
shakes as memories loom
of a long ago time
on a fall afternoon.
I can see the leaves falling
as tears of today
when I think of how brother
turned work into play.
One red wheelbarrow was heaped
high with leaves
and limbs that had dropped
from the red maple tree.
I can smell the woodsmoke
as strong arms lifted me high
and I plop in the wheelbarrow
face to the sky.
I still laugh in the wonder
as I call to mind
how that wheelbarrow flew
with big brother behind.
Well I've ridden in autos,
in ships and in trains,
raced in a motorboat,
flew in jet planes.
But I've never felt such
a marvelous thrill
as when that red wheelbarrow
flew down that hill
Author Roberts Douglas
Williston, Florida
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