In through the field gate comes
the tractor, with added beak,
behind is its partner, pulling
a container to receive its spew.
Then round the dance floor of the summer
field, two days old, two hour dance,
for while the sun shines?
Together in step time, no foxtrot,
more barn dance movement,
they joust in unison, spew first,
catch thatch next. And filled,
with delight of the partners dance,
with pregnant from the field,
cargo for the bale, cattle food.
partners inn red and music
a baritone drone, petrol scent.
A neat and necessary dance,
to spew and catch,
the sheaves brought in,
to Sligo barns, in June.
And close of Dance,
an anthem of birds come
down for a gleaning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem