Seed after seed seeps slowly
from the scanty slit.
Tiny grain slips silently,
brushing the rigid lining
of the illustrious silver silo.

The silo stands in front of the picket fence,
next to the red barn,
transcendent in the silty air.
The sterling sheeting
gleams proudly in the orange harvest moon,
and is equally impressive in the grueling summer sun.

The seed hits the rigid terrain,
bouncing and brushing off the brown turf.
Seed follows seed
and mound follows mound,
creating soft, tender places to land.

Gusts of wind shake the silo,
sending seed scattering to the ground.
Thunder claps in the air,
and when lightening strikes,
more seed is displaced.
Even the rumble of the farmers’ tractor
displaces grain, building the mounds.

Months and months of slipping seeds
being slapped to the harsh ground
leaves the gleaming silo merely scarred on the outside,

empty on the inside.