Far up the pasture at the edge of sky
Toy cattle, red and black and brindle brown,
Doze under kneehigh maples. Nearer by
The colt-size gelding at the fence puts down
A tentative hoof, and idly switching flies,
Snorts and is still. Along the stable wall
The garrulous hens, drowsing with lidded eyes,
Forgot to peck and chirk. And all over

The langurous sunlight swims…No shouted word,
No laugh, no bark of engines. Nothing jars
The insect-busy stillness; beast and bird
Take dreaming rest. And by the pasture bars,
A boy in breeches and a drawstring blouse,
Wealthy with time (and free to spend it so) –
Gravely observes the Sunday calm of cows
And hens and horses. Wondering how they know.

© Harry Bruce, All Rights Reserved