I Owe You
Were you ever found seated
and sated, contented
idly gazing at sky
but little to do but enjoy,
hill farmer, as idle and sated
as now sit I?
..whatever your giving
your living was meagre
but good to the eye,
the shaley grey walling
rising and falling
that insatiable hill
gives the lie.
I owe you, my masters,
harnessed to callus and stone,
I owe you my ease,
but you lie under headstones
unheeding, unneedful,
where now in the autumn
fall soundless the leaves.