Le Trumpet

On frequent mornings fair,
whilst whistle the waking winged denizens of sun-ready oaks
and peeping boppish bays, midst a modal mist
whose soaking tones warrant no woe,
there jets aloft a golden burst pure and untamed (nor yet famed),
an amendment upon the rooster’s ancient decree of Day Come Once More
which summons the Grange Farm Schoolers
to break their fast.
O, how sweet the sigh of a trumpet ere
some time of consuming
wherein that most sacred and basic
of physical needs
is met;
that of the food which we grow
we continue
to breathe
and move even our
littlest finger
at a whim, slightest
or otherwise,
All at the behest of this
Shinytwistybrass tube
breath imbued

who new?
“In the beginning,
the Lips produce sound
it moves from
a toot
to a tot
from a fruit
to a fraught
and lastly to a full-blown ‘umph'”

(Riley and Danny)

“Sure beats shouting”


Written by intern, James, and students Riley and Danny of the Fall 2015 term of the Grange Farm School


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