Red Tractor

The furrows ploughed, the boats from bow

Pulled with a crab filled catch,

The trailers towed, the hay bales stowed,

The workhorse ten times matched.

The downhill roll, the arduous slopes,

The wheels and axles grind,

Par for the course, for wear or worse,

No Oxen yoked or donkey hoax unkind.

Parked for a day, while field mice play,

Hooray for a drop of rain,

A prop on a set, rust in the wet,

The tractor’s there again.

Now taken in stock, by the farmers flock,

Part of the landscaped way,

Where all goes to rot, then all is forgot,

The old boy’s had his day.

©Philip Holden

2003

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