He was from a farm which promised much and delivered little
It sat in the low hills inland from the coast,
all shadows and bullrush and dripping gullies
A four-room home –
two at the back, two in the front and hardly a chair on which to sit
They were, he said, poor in all but spirit
They worked until they bent or broke
It made him, he said
He got out when he could because he did not want
to waste a life thrusting posts into soggy ground
He shore and fenced and built
All the while he saved, and when the bank
dropped its rate he went for shares
Then he bought good land – land a man could farm,
He walked on its silty plain and sunlit rises,
remembered how his father’s tears salted the earth
It made his throat tighten
Thanks for reading.
“All shadows and and bullrush and dripping gullies”
Awesome line.
I can almost smell it.