A poem describing the art piece Gate

It's an early weekday morning,

me and brother are up at the crack of dawn,

I had to rack the dry umber dirt.

The sun blinded and stunning at the same time.

I heard the wind whistling by me. 

The wind chilled out the heat and humidity.

Sweat trickled down my face, I was working hard 

in the 100-degree heat.

It is still only 7:00 a.m.

Me and brother always go to the edge of the fence

wondering what's out there.

All we can see is the bright coral leaves changing colors. 

We might see a charcoal squirrel,

on the other side of the fence.

We want to go chase it and explore the new land.

But it is 7:30 a.m. and time for school.