On his way to or coming from Feeding cows Whistling or singing, Orange twines tied in bows Swinging above the tractor hitch. Bales strewn broken in chunks Across the hard white ground; Cattle steaming in chill air Stoking bellies with summer hay, Against the cold their only coal to burn.
I'd rather he had fallen, Smile upon his wizened face Blue with cold, heart given way, Just the way he'd prayed to go, Than to have watched The helicopter veer away Into a frozen sky.