Patrick Kavanagh

The Seed and The Soil

Somebody is moving across the headlands
Talking to himself
A grey thinker.

The clay is whitening in the windy light
Where the sparrows are bathing.
To-morrow surely
The seed will go under the harrow
Nothing must hinder
The wooing of grain and clay.

*The following lines are crossed out:

'The sheet will be knotted across round shoulders,
An arm and a sling to scatter truth
A sensual green about the stubborn boulders'
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