he drove bullocks to market
as cold rain lashed the land
saturated to the skin
a drovers apprentice
excused from schooling
experiencing the back
breaking task of gathering
spuds on a frosty morning
the black earth encrusting
his staple diet
under burning sun
spading turf in the
mountain silence
earning winter heat
by the sweat of his brow
would he swap with those
who romance labouring tasks
for the residue of past work
now pains his aged frame
lying within the human field
until nurtured with age
it sprouts forth like
corn shoots from harrowed soil
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great empathy and true feelings penned here with zeal, , , , ,10