Was it left outside after a day’s work or after a child finished playing with it? Every stanza leaves the reader with more questions. Is the wheelbarrow a toy or a tool? The poem ends with,”next to the white chickens.” Mr. Williams completes the poem with many visual aids directing the reader’s imagination to assume the red wheelbarrow and white chickens are on a farm. We now know the red wheelbarrow is a tool used for duties of day to day chores. Maybe the emphasis on the rain water is there to help us imagine the dirt and grime being washed away and more develop the idea it is used for transportation of feed to the chickens. Mr. Williams does an amazing job of describing the setting with such few words. The complexity of this poem brings the reader to another place like most literature does. A place the reader can escape everyday life and be transported somewhere else. The poem reminds me of the time I spent at my aunt’s farm when I was a child. Early mornings walking around the stables and gathering eggs from the chicken coops for the family breakfast. I remember the smell of the outdoors intensified by the morning dew or an approaching storm. The enjoyment of watching my uncle work the fields knowing he is doing everything for one purpose. The purpose of feeding his
Was it left outside after a day’s work or after a child finished playing with it? Every stanza leaves the reader with more questions. Is the wheelbarrow a toy or a tool? The poem ends with,”next to the white chickens.” Mr. Williams completes the poem with many visual aids directing the reader’s imagination to assume the red wheelbarrow and white chickens are on a farm. We now know the red wheelbarrow is a tool used for duties of day to day chores. Maybe the emphasis on the rain water is there to help us imagine the dirt and grime being washed away and more develop the idea it is used for transportation of feed to the chickens. Mr. Williams does an amazing job of describing the setting with such few words. The complexity of this poem brings the reader to another place like most literature does. A place the reader can escape everyday life and be transported somewhere else. The poem reminds me of the time I spent at my aunt’s farm when I was a child. Early mornings walking around the stables and gathering eggs from the chicken coops for the family breakfast. I remember the smell of the outdoors intensified by the morning dew or an approaching storm. The enjoyment of watching my uncle work the fields knowing he is doing everything for one purpose. The purpose of feeding his