The old man comes out on the hill <br />and looks down to recall earlier days <br />in the valley. He sees the stream shine, <br />the church stand, hears the litter of <br />children's voices. A chill in the flesh <br />tells him that death is not far off <br />now: it is the shadow under the great boughs <br />of life. His garden has herbs growing. <br />The kestrel goes by with fresh prey <br />in its claws. The wind scatters the scent <br />of wild beans. The tractor operates <br />on the earth's body. His grandson is there <br />ploughing; his young wife fetches him <br />cakes and tea and a dark smile. It is well.<br /><br />Ronald Stuart Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/good/
