Both immensely strong, but gentle in nature
Softly nodding greetings, ready for the day
Not yet fully dawn light spreads from the East
The ‘tack room’ holding leather smells
Chains, stout collars braids and brasses
Long girth belts, bridle bits and clips.
Almost mechanically, we dress each
Carefully, sure straps are right tight
Each worn in and comfy to wear
The days in autumn, exceptionally long
The field toil, of harvest our goal
Year after year we toil.
The waving crop, rippling in the gentle breeze
Seems to greet the hedgerow trees
Chins attached to the harvester
The two pull in harmony, back and forth
After, small bottom nine acre field is cut
The stook’s gathered, by roving field hands.
Beer and cheese consumed,
The leather water bag offered over each head
Greedily the horses drink, their refreshment
Small mammals confused by our assault
Their home field stripped of cover food
Dart here and there in confusion.
Back tomorrow, with the heavy cart
To gather the stooks, on the wheeled bed
The stacks to erect bushel by bushel
Hot tiring heavy work, for both man and beast
Sunshine not always good in such conditions
Rain sometimes, is worse.
On the tired two mile homeward walk
Birds sing, distant thunder rumbles
Should be home before dark
The stable door open as we left it
The stalls, cleaned with new hay
At lease we’re done, for this day.