Gesture Re-Post
...a sonnet for R.S. Thomas
A shaft of straw lodged loosely 'twixt his teeth,
a shifty glance from here to everywhere,
he toils the livelong day 'tween farm and heath,
a sullen youth with wild and shaggy hair.
The elements have pulverized his face,
a body lean and hungry from the plow,
in silence, with a slow and steady pace,
he struggles hard with sweat upon his brow.
Untutored still, yet he can read the sky,
the circle of a buzzard high and free,
more welcome to his sharp and seasoned eye
than any book or harsh calligraphy.
Today I had him pause to shake my hand,
a gesture he and I both understand.
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