Hell Yes, I Write Sonnets Sometimes

Hello from Grand Rapids, Michigan!

In Absence

Josh Ritter

A rich old farmer I must be for that

Walled field within my ribcage grows a strain

Of flower which, upon your leaving, fast

Becomes a blade and then an amber grain

You’ve walked upon this ground of mine so oft’

Perhaps it was I missed the seeds you sewed

But so it is that now you are gone off

These flowers seem to from your footprints grow

And when the grain is grown I’ll take the yield

And milling each day, portion out enough

And I’ll not hungry go because my field

Will serve to feed my memory and my love

‘Til you return, then feasting we will know

How rich the field within which fonder grows.