It stands at the corner old / as if waiting for a personIt is facial rubiginous mark is full of stains or spots / can be infiltrated by sweat then / v hoe / brightness still is inI know / he ever was father hand in / the pen of enclaspBe in all one's life black land / repeating green pains bumper harvestAnd the pen in my hand / wrote so much yearDid not get rid of unexpectedly a fireweed / make a food