Poetry

And the farm endured
seven fields to forty acres
the days of my father
saw grass and crops rotate
his toiling obsession now spent
gave way to a bigger scale

the old house storeyed
by one and a half
the bedroom where I slept
in the shadow of an older brother

the roof of grey slate
the peak of my world
reached a childhood sky

the overgrown garden
the consequence of labours elsewhere
the sycamore tree
my view of a world outside

the patch of monkshood remained
where I trapped bees in a jar
the fuchsia bush with flowers to pick
and suck nectar from within

the old dirt track road
the start of a jouney far beyond
the realm of a farm
and the dreams of a boy