The Pasture

Today I watched the farmer spreading lime,
it fell like snow, shining in spring-time sun
dusting trees struggling from winter's cold
the day was still, little came my way
so I stayed, I love the working farm,
wondered what sort of lime he used,
thought it would be limestone,
I use hydrate at home, it's all they sell.
Two years ago I watched him spread the muck,
this time of year, waiting for the ground to warm.
When I was young we spread the stuff in winter
when the soil was hard and easy on the horses,
but now we're told that's wrong,
it’s all washed down the drains and rivers
bugs and worms asleep.
 
The forecast rain,there's not been much of late
harrows next and when the grass again is green
the milkers will be back udders full and heavy.
A century old, full of flowers, buttercups and primrose
to sweeten up the milk; never sees the plough,
the grasses have no fancy names,
baptised when Adam courted Eve
lost in myths and legends.
Around the farm there's wheat and kale
spuds and beet and silage,
but here I walk, each day I wish,
a dog and cows for company.