A’rear the Suffolks’ sure foot gait
And sturdy flank of silent muscle power,
Shining steel of ploughshare cuts a wake,
With scent of earth turned, new and clean,
All held by skills that keep straight
With every corner matched in perfect line,
For the gathered gulls to glean.
And as the father cut the furrow, so does son,
A’helm two hundred horses diesel burning,
Hauling tenshare, cutting with the roar;
Toward the dying day, earth still churning,
With no ploughman’s ‘Hold boy! ‘ check or ‘Woah! ‘
Headlights pierce the boundless fields of night,
And lines still straight and true,
Beneath the stars and watching satellite.