9 January 2013
#bestofopuss/Toms
This will be my last harvest, boy, the last i'll ever see, For I can feel my maker, boy, a-looking hard at me.
I reckin that he thinks it's time that I was up and gone, But I thank him for this good green earth he let me walk upon.
For this salt marsh cottage where I was bred and born Tween plough and sail my heart lies, the codling and the corn.
Down winding sea thrift pathways that snake toward the shore And rolling fields where I would walk with legs that walk no more.
I've sailed this world twice over and survived the two great wars, Lost my eye against the Jerries and my father against the Boers.
Yet all I ever wanted was to watch the red sails glide Of the stately sailing barges off to catch the morning tide.
Or stroll the soft warm summer nights amid the corn mist glow And dream of summers that are gone in fields of long ago.
To walk the lonely sea wall paths to feel the salt lash sting To hear the wild north-easter blow and make the marshes sing.
Yet this is my last harvest, boy, for soon he'll take my hand And we will walk together, boy, across Mehalahland.
TOM MAY
The Marshman • Opuss № I