Grimbeau

Femme lyre (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The rutted track, a spine of sods and marigolds, heads down past the dreamy horses to the fat sow, on her side suckling the filthy, greedy farrow. Stone walls patrol the way, banked by a greensward of tiny, many coloured and varied flowers, whose seeds recurred or were transported by boot, or crow, or tyre. Cows gather at the hollow, metal fivebar for the fetchers and milkers. They will moo and groan, the fetchers will holler and grunt, the slurry and hurry:  Charley Hurly, burly and curly, a little shrunk these days, buried his son alive yesterday, alive but unneeded at this juncture.