Poem by Duane L Herrmann
How can I write of summer pleasures when that time just meant more work, all in excess heat, in kitchen or garden, with mother nearby screeching. Sweat was all the same. The only pleasure were those few moments on those rare days when we had a treat of cold watermelon which could not last more than minutes, then back to work and finish the day.
Herrmann, is an award winning, internationally published poet and historian – despite an abusive childhood with dyslexia, ADHD; now compounded by cyclothymia, an anxiety disorder, PTSD. Growing up on the farm, he’s grown fond of grass waving under wind, trees, and moonlight.
