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The Web Poetry Corner - M A Heathcote - Black hill farm

Black hill farm


M A Heathcote

It lay in the Nissen hut
Beneath an arc of moon;
It lay in the Nissen hut
Like a pulpit of gloom;

In an old tin bath it laid
Like an up-turned table
A dead calf half-frozen (yet still it brayed...)
Only a day before it was... (Very, very able)

Wed chased it with the black and tan collie
Along the lane; across green lush fields
Where its haunting looks gave us one last folly
And shaking did our cold sullen bones yield,
A shiver like the autumn chestnut trees
That rattled in the winds deep freeze...

Oh there it lay in the Nissen hut
As calm as our frost tinged lungs;

Oh there it lay in the Nissen hut
Looking up through the ice of our hearts in dung;

Oh there it lay in the Nissen hut
As mute, as numb, as the spittle dry words in our mouths.

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