Robert Andrew Lyle Poet Rhyme

The Farming Year

The furrows glistened silvery
With the crows astride their brow
Looking for the wiggling worms
Turned up by six share plough

Seagulls also joined the feast
Calling out loudly as they flew
Following quickly behind the plough
As it turned over pastures new

The farmer sat oblivious 
To the cacophony of sound
Created by the flocks of birds
As they settled on the ground

His mind was on the job in hand
Keeping his furrows straight
And struggling to stay awake
From his evenings working late

His wife would come at six with tea
And scone bread spread with jam
And sometimes if he was lucky
It could be some breaded ham

Then off again into the cab
With a wave to say goodbye
The field it must be finished soon
As they were going to plant some Rye

How quickly change the seasons
From the Spring unto the Fall
Suddenly the winters here
And gone is the Cuckoo call

Christmas round the corner
Time for a well earned rest
Having all the family over
Will put his patience to the test

Then Spring is soon upon us
Time to sow  the seeds once more
And hope for a better harvest
Thank God the winters o’er

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