Steam Engine

Pride becomes the opposite of joy.

His steam engine dug into the yard.

Teeth of the huge wheels dug into the yard.

Grandchildren clutched handled of splintered wood.

Children's bleeding hands clutched rough metal and wood.

Being near him hurt. They had no words.

His warning eyeslits hurt away their words.

They would tell their parents nothing.

Nothing they could tell rose to their fear.

He drove across the farm yard crushing roses.

He drove across petals and stems of roses.

Plant life life in the yard mirrored the children.

The children could not see themselves in cruelty.

His pride made steam that spoiled their joy.