Cowshed One

Published : Wednesday, April 25, 2007 | Label:   Letter From Cowshed    Poems  

Straight from throwing what’s left of yesterday to the hens
and loosing them into their yard, I walk
to the cowshed and I bank
a fire in the stove in the room
where by now in years now gone
sixty cows would already have stood
and let themselves be milked and sent back to the paddock and the river and I walk
back to the house for coffee
to let the fire make up its mind.

And through the French doors I look back
at the yellow shed askew
in the morning and I watch it send up smoke
to get lost in the rain and I think
my shed is a ship
the world has sailed past
again in the night,
but the news comes on the radio and there’s the world
run aground again on my shore.


Search this site