I took two 'Saucer oaths' and broke them both,the saucers not the oaths,
if God be willing and the King still gives his shilling then I shall go a fighting and leave the tilling of the soil, but so as not to let the good crops spoil for want of turning sods,I'll leave the jobs to Seth and Bill who'll work from Morn' until the nightjar sings and bring the harvest in when due.

Underneath the dead blue sky where flies hum round the corpses on the battlefield I shield my eyes against the glaring of the sun,
and if the sun be glaring sourly at anyone, it should glare at them out there with the pilots on and the gasgun flaming,
if God be willing we'll be killing then afore too long.

This harvest done as well
this harvester combined with hell.

On the fell farm underneath the warm glow where the sun slides smiling down the hedgerow is where my mind goes, to relieve the stress though some may guess I'm just a wandering when in fact I'm in the act of wondering just how well Seth and Bill are managing,killing my time by imagining that total peace is somewhere in the offing,while in the distance machine guns starts their coughing,and
then I'm back,the whipcrack of the ricochet and once again we play at cowboys but with real guns not with play toys and the noise is overpowering.

I hope and pray the crops are brought in.