The Sickle

 
A sickle in the antique shop
ash-wood handle split and loose
cast aside, it gave us bread,
more than the sword or axe ,
swung by women and children,
helped by men between the wars,
rarely fought in autumn.
The Russians have it on their flag
flying with the hammer......
no guns on the blood red standard.
Here it lies, leaning on the wall
going for six pound fifty.
Stay awhile and doff your hat
to the labourer who swung this blade,
once bright and sharp  .  .  .  .  .  .  . . . .
blacksmith, fire and  water,
Each night, set beside the kitchen door
heavy boots, clip rug on the floor,
children round the table,  
fresh baked bread and soup,
praying for the sun tomorrow.