HORSE AND PLOUGH

Early on spring mornings the ploughman raised from his bed,
Drank a jug of milk along with a crust of homemade bread,
Doused his head under the pump to send the cobwebs away
Then wandered to the barn to get the horse to start his day.

The mist still hung low and damp over the large field,
It had rested last year so should give them a good yield,
Horse, man and plough worked together furrows to make,
The children would come seeds to sow when they did wake,

Sweat dripped off both man and beast as they did their work,
Every moment counted, they really could not ever shirk,
For if the crop was not planted, cruel hunger would come,
So the hard work all through the day had to be done.

At lunchtime water for them both, oats for the horse,
For the man, homemade bread and cheese of course.
Then back to work again, until the sinking of the sun
At last to plod homeward when the days work was done.

How different it is today with big tractors everywhere,
Acres ploughed in hours, but no quiet country air,
I wonder if today they feel the satisfaction the same
As when the old horse and ploughman homeward came?

M Ann Margetson © June 28, 2001