What it Was

It was how his hair matched
the golden grain in the fields
he tended, 
tenderly 
with work-roughened hands,
focused 
with a singular vision,
so much the same 
as he tended
me.
It was his work ethic, passed
down by generations,
that farming was 
a high calling, that
the sweat
of his labors,
the daily sky scanning
would end in feeding millions,
the same as his love
fed me.
It was his steadfast faith, 
solid as the earth 
beneath our feet 
that the farm would endure
through downpour 
and drought, and so too
would we.

Today I combined prompts from napowrimo.net, write a love poem, with this featured art by Anjum Wasim Dar on The Wombwell Rainbow. Thanks to both sites for the prompts.