How little they knew, the ploughers
sweat on the brow of grown things
approaching them with chilled drinks on a tray.

Beneath those billowing skirts
what she carried
and with each dragging step, she felt
the deliberate digging into mud
a soft release
of eager seed to ground.

And how they dug into the earth.

Nightfall beckons home a new flock
each week
so no-one ever suspects
the assortment of characters in the dark
Nine white birds
on a line
the only eyes to it all.