Only a man harrowing clods
In a slow silent walk
With an old horse that stumbles and nods
Half asleep as they stalk.
Only thin smoke without flame
From the heaps of couch-grass;
Yet this will go onward the same
Though Dynasties pass.
Yonder a maid and her wight
Come whispering by:
War's annals will cloud into night
Ere their story die.
Staying in Dorset, I’m so disappointed that I forgot to go down to town to see the Spitfire on display. The lady in the photo helped to build Spitfires during the war. Photo Blackmore Vale Magazine. More here.
