Monday 30 September 2013

PITCHFORKS AND PAILS:

Rural, yokel, salt of God´s great earth,
Lived on the farm since day of his birth,
Up at dawn & whistling with the birds,
Goes pitching hay & fodder for his herds.

The milking of cows & the feeding of hens,
Grooming horses & mucking out the pens,
Garbed in old dungarees & an old straw hat,
Old farmer Brown, sun-blessed & rounded fat.

His old sheepdog Jessie, never leaving his side,
On tractor, in fields & mud, he´s forever outside,
In wind, rain, sun & all seasons in their weavings,
Old farmer, overseeing all plantings & retrievings.

 His life, boy & man,  born to old pitchforks & pails,
In whispering fields, where winter wind now wails,
He says he has no need of the crazy outside world,
Where the worst of man is seen & so cruelly unfurled.


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