He was a square glass picture 
that moved.  There was
evening sunlight as he
fought through that ground - he 
pulled at the clinging mint, dragged 
weeds to the mound, those 
strong arms, his
sturdy body, muscules, youth - all 
worked with his worn 
army trousers and a smile - he
leaned on his rake, pushed 
sweat through his hair, surveyed 
the improving earth - he
looked up, waved 
as I watched him, watched
one moment of sweat and youth and sun,
losing and unrepeatable.  That 
wilderness was never tidy but we
met there, shared 
beer, talked 
labours of love.
Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem