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The Daughter

Brown earth tumbled to the left and to the right
And the gulls full bellied took to flight,
As slowly the two Clydesdale's drew
The plow nigh unto the soft approaching gloamings light!.

The farmer began to click his parched tongue
At the lumbering beasts as if in song,
To signal the end of their working day
Of hard, but used to labor though the hours long!.

Unhitching the beast with horned yet gentle hands
He looking back at the well kept arable lands,
Of his fathers father’s fifty-acre family farm
Of fallow fields and stooks in wheat tethered bands!.

Four hundred years this land had belong to the Jones
Kept clean by their own labor of trees and stones!.
Bounded by Hawthorn neatly cut and staked
By men like old Tom, all cursing the ache in their old bones!.

The old farmhouse was there before the Romans came,
And rebuilt during the time of Vespasian's reign
To help feed the garrison at nearby Ludlow town,
Carted along the new road which the invaders gave name!.

The horses stabled, brushed, watered and fed with hay,
He rested on a barred gate going over a future day
In his weary yet still alert, ever thinking mind,
Whether his only son will leave, or will he decide to stay!.

He reached in his pocked for his tobacco pouch and pipe,
His son must take on the farm, it was only right
That the farm stay in the family, his families name!.
His pipe filled, he lit it and the pipe glowed with faint light!.

Across the yard a light shone in the small kitchen window,
It was a welcome scene taking away his sorrow!.
He opened the stout door to be greeted by his wife,
Her happy smile helped him put away his thoughts till the morrow!.

Sitting by the wood stove in his overly stuffed chair,
He took in the sight with a contented, satisfied air
While a bubbling iron kettle sang on the hob,
And smells of delight wafted around him, their evenings fare!.

He and his plump wife sat drinking tea brewed in spring water!.
Jep, his dog squatted on her black hind quarter
Leaned against his leg her tail dusting the floor!.
Perhaps, the farmer thought, the farm should go to their daughter!.

They retired to bed this thought still fixed firmly in his mind!.
His daughter was of the old stock, the farming kind!.
Smiling, he kissed his wife, said good night,
Rolled over with a relaxed look, snuggling up to her warm behind!.

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