In the luminous morning sky, the bags erupt with the early harvest,
Blisters bursting potato by potato, But the hand does not feel for time is key, A lonely shop owner awaits his profit, And a tie fitted gent awaits his return. As the scorn of the plough ripples the ground, Unearthing the endless stream, A stream filled with life and hope, Fresh air and hard work stirs. The driver looks back at his slaves, Slow and prudent his drives, For every potato enhances worth, A bad one here and there But no one can not fault his devotion. Break is nigh as another trailer door opens, A blazing gas stove fuels the black bottomed kettle, In the corner a woman spreading butter on the thick loaf, Slices of ham pound on, And one by one they line up. The tea is drowned and bellies filled, For off they go to earn their fill. As dusk is near, The final whip slashed, Off they go for tomorrow holds more.
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Mary DohertyJust a blog to post some of the offerings I create in my spare time. I hope you enjoy! Archives
September 2019
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