Sunday Faced.
Rain wringing out great drops on sodden yards
wetting Sunday-faced farmers
plus ripple of following offspring who mincing
thru\' grass yawn slowly uphill
to mud-spattered salvation of weekly worship
and damply pewed, wait for a sermon.
Hatted heads bow as onslaught of next storm
fling windowed reminders to all
reverently bent but men know gale-flat grain
awaits no redemption from
sudden battering, cattle-full sheds bellow out
for attention as gates lean on
torn hinges squeaking in vain, time is wasted
in best attire when fierce tempest
empties coin- rattle as Sunday dressed men
scrabble for doors before service ends.
Smallholding tasking ever takes precedence
but for one holy-hour, chapel then
done and Hellfire quenched Sunday skirts lift
as lady-boots quickly skid homeward
to kitchen heaven of baked bread smells and
roasting aromas when welcome hands
closed in thanks after renewing, sin-cleansed
and full of rude health, country folk
can shoulder usual hazards of living off land
that asks for far more than Sunday-best.