An old tractor abandoned in the prairie,
Left to rust where the fields grow weary.
Nature claimed it in her quiet way,
Her roots and vines where engines lay.

Its paint now faded, metal worn thin,
With bark and trunk rooted deep within.
Too stubborn to move, too proud to break,
Bound by the roots no force could shake.

Once a tool for hands now still,
Held in the earth’s unmoving will.
A relic of toil, left as it stands—
Steel and wood, held in nature’s hands.

Created by
MarkWaldrop