There was Dai Puw. He was no good.
They put him in the fields to dock swedes,
And altarwise by owl-light in the half-way house
The gentleman lay graveward with his furies.
There was Llew Puw, and he was no good.
Every evening after the ploughing
With the big tractor he would sit in his chair,
Opening his slow lips like a snail.
And, from his fork, a dog among the fairies.
There was Huw Puw, too. What shall I say?
Old cock from nowheres and the heaven’s egg,
Hatched from the windy salvage on one leg,
I have heard him whistling in the hedges
On and on. In France they killed him,
back in March, the very night of the blizzard, too.
Seth Crook, 2014
On the Farm, by R.S. Thomas
Altarwise by Owl-Light, by Dylan Thomas
As the Team’s Head Brass, by Edward Thomas