As rain’s a foe
until there’s none
in field or fold
the one
that’s missing
is the one
that matters.
Her ‘Bring in the sticks.’
‘Now?’
Or ‘Drive them heifers
from the haggard.’
‘Now?’
Her ‘Well, are you nearly
ready?’
‘Nearly.’
Her grumbled ‘Nearly
never bulled a cow.’
Once she woke me
with a start.
Cold hands,
cold heart.
Her giving out to the world …
And still I’m haunted
by the music of her
‘Now where’s he gone?
Oh where, oh where?’
And her ‘Tell him …
Tell him he’s wanted.’