This is not a poem by yours truly, but by a fellow poet. Can you tell me who wrote this? It was published in a small anthology in 1980, Windflower Home Almanac of Poetry, edited by Ted Kooser.
DAWN AT THE RAINBOW HILL RANCH,
Matted in early light, the grass
uncurls around the ankles of the cows:
damp smoke. The barn’s still dark,
walls wet, each beam in its sleep
reciting the myths of roots. But
a smell of cut hay, honed by cold,
broods over the clank of an iron bell.
Only the fruit-tree limbs, bent
low, seem buoyant. While the world
whispers its story to the seeds,
time holds its huge breath