The Last Furrow, Henry Herbert La Thangue (1895)
Sun light ricochets off the farmer’s vest,
On this chilly and windy mid-March morn.
Snorting horses pulling plow, displaying their zest.
Blue steel share cutting deep, sod to be torn.
The soil released its pent up energy,
As billows of silk mist took to the sky,
While birds came as an invading army,
Devouring their plump prey from where they lie.
Day now done, horses released at last furrow,
For them will be a rest day tomorrow.
Rest will be needed to pull the harrow,
Soon the field be readied for corn to grow.
Life is not what you do but how you feel,
On this little farm there exists great zeal.