Winter-Clad.
Tell me a winter-clad tale of ponds
icy coated and
trout belly-up in death\'s breathless
sad grasp,
of misty twilight\'s snow-blind glide
through goat-dotted hills
to cottage cowl,
of wind\'s sudden howling in rafters
when panes rattle.
Tell me of frosty-backed cattle tho\'
stalled lowing for cud,
of fields thigh-high in drifts, flakes
piled around hedgerows
shielding stiff sheep,
of frozen greenery,
of tough farming breeds labouring
to dig out and save
lambing ewes,
of new-born bleating hunger,
of calves losing
others in mass stumble for cover,
of hot log-ovens kept heating
heating black potted gruel
when jobs are done.
Tell me the story of never say No
when going gets tough,
of folk whose hold on tomorrow
shines with hope,
when after bad-weather losses
shrugs of wide shoulders
fasten worn jackets and hatted,
trust steps forward
raw fingered yet willingly ready
despite freeze and
struggles to battle winter again.
Clad in strongest resilience
such men and their women.