POEM TITLE Winter's morn in Blackness
POEM High above Blackness on sea, sky paints her cheeks it seems for me,
Wi Blossom pinks and hazy blues, framed black over the Lobster Pot roof
And past the dreamin' clouds oh white, flock winters geese in graceful flight, the air is still the day is new, wi beating wings the only tune
An' oan the ground rise countless blades, oh hard green spears by frost made brave, who stand up tall despite the day n hooves that soon will drove their way
Aye nature shows the truth in all, tae rise again one first must fall, there is nae day withoot the night, nae differences, nae need for fright,
An' of this fright the hare knows not, an' through the field he scarpers off,
o live a day as though alive, unlike the workers who now drive
Aye drive they do this weary lot,
To places that they'd rather not
With a silent sense of loss, the knowledge that they've been ripped off.
They wake at dawn and grind a stone for wealthy men they've never known, but
never were we taught to think, just to bow and sink and sink,
The tractor now goes up n down spraying poison on the ground, efficiency an
awful sound, but still we sing along.
Behind the desks they dream of fields, of how the soil in fingers feels,
Of community and something real
Instead of this numb ache
Yet still machines designed to free, destroy both soil and dignity, but as the ice
begins to weep we'll rid our eyes oh blindin' sleep
And oh me, im just like you, I do not live the life i'd choose, for of this dear old
sacred earth I do not own a pennies worth
But all of that is gonna change, no longer will I live estranged, and to my work I will
not stray, instead I'll live here with the day.
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