Twisted Furrows

She walked with me yesterday
Guiding my plough
Straight from headland to headland….
Lament with me now.

My furrow twists like falsehood
The field's length and breadth.
O straight is truth I cry out
But my cry is death - 

She will not come again
My furrow to guide,
For I have sinned against Guidance
And my plough has lied.

She will not come again
Till my field is ploughed - 
I have not gone humbly cheerful
With shoulders bowed.