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