The Countryman

The Countryman

Cutting down the thorny bushes

splitting wood right up the middle

takes it’s toll in huffs and puffs

Progress made in stacked piles

Places cleared and looking new

like new surroundings lost and found

The country man – man of the soil

Thrusts his daily scythe

and digs his spade in sods of dirt

The countryman is a half-townie-lad

Likes a beer and a monologue

“That will do” he often says

Climbing back on tractor seat

Starting up

he can hear above it’s crackling shiver

Dirty clothes in daily grime

He reasons: “I’m clean” – if jacket left-off

Clean-shaven once in a blue moon

Sleeps in a rocking chair

Then back to the sheep

Intellect buzzing on cow techniques

Amusement creeps-in on the stage of farms

Funny mishaps and the odd alarm

He’ll be glad to converse about hay and history

History of hay that is…

And if he smokes –

he raises a pipe to panting puffs

And leans on the byre with studious look

As though these moments

were time stood still

Early mornings and late nights

He’s content to mix his pleasure

With his work

And to take a brew of tea

If you’re offering

Brought in a can

To the countryman

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