There were winters past

When we walked across

Paths and tracks with mac’s

And coats that floated in harsh torn winters gale

Upon fields of white stalked green

Steady crisp crunching footsteps

Marked our trail

On crushed even grass

 

Trying to avoid the rutted tractor tyre puddles

Of snarking bracken waters splash

Laughing over bootfulls of over eager tread

Of horses hooved beaten earth

Of boots covered in chalky white thickened slurry

Amid the bright sun fight dazzled eyes

And blinking spiking hawthorn bushes

With webs of sparkling shiny doyley finesse

 

And we would laugh and complain

Among hats scarves and gloves

Clapping our hands to keep warm

Balancing across styles

Sliding on icy lanes

To get back to the car

Before sun down rest

And the spitting kicking

Log fired trail of home