Sunday Poetry: Owen Klein

Nothing Past the Post

"Nothing past the post," he said,
"That land is for my son."
We planted and the crops grew full and heavy,
But only to the post, not past.
The ground beyond lay fallow.
"Where is your son?", I said,
"His land's in need of planting."
He paused and then replied,
"My son is in a killing field,
He'll be back and then we'll plant."
We worked and waited, the old man and I,
And when the son came back,
I helped to put him in the fallow earth.
Hearing once again,
"There'll be nothing past the post,
That land is for my son."

--Owen Klein


(Found at Poets Against War.)