Roll on Spring!
Bowley Farm
is in the mud,
If not on a
hill it’d be in a flood,
The place
dates back six hundred years,
And all
that time it’s been up to it’s ears!
Ten horses live in the field nearby,
And these
days they’re the reason why;
A tractor
comes up every day,
To care for
them and bring them hay.
The ruts across the grass are deep,
Into which
the water seeps,
And where
in spring the grass is found,
It’s mud from
tractors turning round.
The track is bumpy, rough and long;
To say it’s
dire would not be wrong.
Very rarely
it improves,
And not
because of horses hooves.
And now
with cars and trucks and bikes,
Tractor
traffic and the likes,
The only
way you will find us,
Is
definitely not by bus!
The over hanging trees are low,
And not
much gets here in the snow;
We simply
have to hunker down,
Until the
snow turns back to brown.
Brown it is
until the spring,
When green
replaces everything,
Then for
seven months or so,
I have too
much grass to mow.
And for at
least a little while,
Our car can
make the final mile;
No longer
do we have to wear,
Wellies to
get out of here!
The sun
comes out, it’s warm again,
A month or
two without much rain;
March and
April, May as well,
Then it all
turns back to…. well…
Summer for
the past few years,
Brought little
in the way of cheers;
A deluge
from the start until,
Autumn
settled on our hill.
There’s
something in the air up here,
Would I
want to change? No fear!
Though it
rains and snows and hails,
It’s
beautiful between the gales.
And sitting
snug and warm indoors,
Watching
Rufus clean his paws,
I really
couldn’t care a bit;
Life is
what you make of it!
© Stephen Saunders
