A Big White Countryman’s Head
His line were honed from the earth
they could tell a yarn, and knew the
birds, the trees, the turn of the year,
and signs of real bad weather (including a furze around the moon)
With a big white countryman’s sconebread head.
Slitted eyes squinted through centuries of deep thought
A shock of mad hair, face lined like bark
gentle soul, brain of granite and listening ear. Talking once
Thinking twice he was born in the right age,
not needed to till or fill, just to think and grow
His country head gulging with eagerness and desire
Twirling a word through...