St Isidore’s Lament

On Rogation Day, we walk and pray

We beat the bounds, to holy sounds

To God, we say, give us today,

Our daily bread and breath.

The farmers talk, of sheep on chalk,

Artisan wells of yore.

The Sussex Downs, the Telscombe Tye,

The passing of the seasons by.


But surely, it no longer matters

That man ploughs the fields and scatters

The Co-op store has all we need,

For none of us take any heed,

Global warming we ignore,

There’s plenty in the shop next door.


The farmer leans upon the gate

The Suffolk Punch reflects its fate

The Harvest Festival remains

Not in celebration,

But just in name.


Gerald O’Brien

Copyright © Gerald O’Brien 2019

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