When asked what he does for a living, the vegetable farmer said that he...

I cover windows to dim the day, or live where sight has gone away. I close things out or lack the view, I’m one word that makes these meanings true.

A drop in the ocean, outward rings; Skip a pebble 'cross a puddle, the water swings. How did these circles now appear? Break the tension to my surface, and I'll shake like I'm nervous.

Shining, sturdy, sometimes brave; What I deal is byword for the grave.

I write with ink when plucked from sky, or rise as spikes when danger’s nigh. In gentle hand or bristled hide, a pen for words, or a shield of spines.