I like to see the brown earth roll over to the cleaving of the plow
I like to see the grass roll to the chewing of the ewe
The hawthorn stripped to the twig by the browsing of the beasts
The chettering of the pies above in the nest as the cows pull the tender green feast
The soft wind on the cheek The spicy tang of the burning ling
The gobbling of the last grouse as they take clattering to the wing
The windscattered rooks like black ash flying before the gale
The sloshing of the new milk and the clanking of the pail
The sienged smell of a crisp ironed pillow when the owl  calls
The parafin smoke wisps as the oil lamp is snuffed till next evening falls.
MPL