Poem - Plough Magic

Post date: Mar 15, 2022 10:49:17 PM

By Aerinbard Fallohide   

I hear the whispered crush of soil

as through it cuts the plough.

The earthy scent of richness lifts

like a red rag to my brow.

“Step gee!” I cry and my pony turns

as round the row we go.

It's honest work, though tiring,

as many good hobbits know.

With gimlet eye my pony digs.

Her shoulders the collar presses.

With generous heart she gives her all

and never a furrow misses.

But when the ground is fallow hard,

and my neighbour his pony lends,

two equine hearts till twice the land

and then half as much again!

For this is the bounty of plough and team

that only the wise have kenned.

A burden shared is *more* than halved

And this is the magic of friends.  

Some information about the author: Master Aerinbard works as an archivist up at the Great Smials. His family made a fortune in farming, but he is more of the scholarly kind. Meanwhile he has been emerging from his sanctuary of books to mingle among his fellow-hobbits in the Shire. He dedicates this poem to all of them.