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
seedsinmotiontruthnart 