Echos of the Past
On weary feet I walk the fallow field
Hearing ghosts from another time
The ploughboy’s labour filled tread
With horse drill long straight furrows
Women clad in sackcloth and calico
Scatter saved seeds on hungry soil
Then came the chill rain of spring
They kneel in sodden clinging clay
Thinning the frozen beet and turnip
Standing only for the Angelus bell
Giving thanks to the Almighty God
For what they did and did not have
End of golden summer came fast
We played in chaff at harvests end
The labourers washed the year away
With drink and music and silver coin
No mirror reflects the toil worn face
Or tears of acceptance of their lot
I leave the field of olden memories
And stumble back to the other side
Across the way the lonely bell tolls
With wisdom of past generations
Telling me that I should leave now
Go---go---go, the old ghosts echo
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