The old bone shaker. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

In the high grass of the haggard

It sits lost, a sad looking sight

 Rusting, with tyres perished

That grey coloured Massey Ferguson.

It served us well, as children

Taught a couple of generations how to drive

Draw cocks of hay, reverse trailers

Follow a plough.

At all times under the watchful eye of granddad

And assembled farmhands

Health and safety those days

Consisted of proper meals

Freedom to roam

Endless sunshine.

It stands now a relic of times past.

A gentle reminder of innocent times.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting