The day before the flight that brings me home.
New thoughts, ideas, and concepts buzz around
My head, though an opinion still does roam
Resulting from our studies of the ground.

I ponder what to tell them of my trip.
Perhaps the glory of the life bestowed
In puppies, piglets, calves, and seeds that grip
The soil. And speakers from much different roads.

Or shall I tell them of the crazy days
Like those consumed with smell of pig manure,
And early morn’s where coffee only fades the haze.
Or people I think sanity’s unsure.

Though speedy winds will give me no reprieve
From Iowa I do not wish to leave