The sound of the grit ravels
As the metal end enters the tepid ground
The mist opens up and then closes
God's not ready to start the day

As each movement unfurls
My brow gets moist with salty sweat
The small hole becomes a bigger hole
Robin redbreast comes over to investigate

I drench my hands on soil to sort the stones
Smelling the earth with a deep breath
I pause rested and squatted deep on my ankles
Stopping to think as the earth continues to spin

This work belongs with me
And I was brought up with it
Strangers who cannot handle a *****
Are alien to us, the children of the soil