A Churning of Earth
I felt the power of the horses,
Tear between my shoulder blades,
Cutting slowly deep into the furrows;
Bits chewing metal with their teeth.
The sod rolled accepting the defeat,
Turning sun-wards – playing dead.
He had taught me how to set the wing,
Shape the sock in line.
This is all I wanted to do;
Grow up and plough the land,
But the nuisance of life. Took me,
And today no sod is turned here.
The earth has patiently won. Without revenge
For it can wait to count it’s scars,
Knowing in time as always,
As it was with him – will cover us all.
© Fingleton (Juillet 2016) (Löst Viking)