The Hayfield

Waiting the farmer mow the field
grass knee high and rich with clover
good for hay or haylage worth a lot  
better than the beet last year...
The factory down the road now closed
workers pensioned off.
Clouds of steam in winter
will no longer dress the scene
on cold and sunny mornings.
It stands  silent  as a tomb
I never heard a sound on passing
'though every day it was busy.
The towers and the chimneys
a symphony of forms.
I hope they leave a remnant
when they find another use.
There's talk and rumour  .  .  .  .  .  .  ....
Incinerator, transfer-depot....
The railway passing by may stop one day.
Still it stands, no steam.....forlorn.
Lorries call each day,take away the sugar
(There's a little left in siloes)
None  bring in the muddy beet ,
The fields around grow rape and corn
Rotations changed,more profits made.
 
Yes, we're waiting for the mower
It's been a rainy summer
Knee high grass after showers
Stays wet all day,soaks my trousers
Rarely do I walk this way
except on sunny Sundays.
When its cut we'll trample in the aftermath
Often after rain,thirty acres flat and even.
I'll watch Jack chase the air
(Tail streaming, shining happy eyes,
Joy to be a live a joy to watch
paying back  the times he's naughty !)
raising pheasants,never catching one.
Autumn soon, orange leaves and polished berries
as nature takes a well earned rest.....
Bare trees in the wood and winter gales
waiting for the spring.