Ploughman

Once he ploughed in Spring
Straining to keep the furrow tight,
Rain or sun,
Hearing bird song
Over the slap of turning sod
And horse's feet.

Now in Autumn
Glass keeps him weather safe,
His cab full of diesel,
Engine noise, Radio One and ear muffs.
No birds sing in hedgeless fields.

Lonely men worry about falling prices
And rising suicides.
Jean Abbott