September 2, 2017

FARMFIELD Part two

to go stark naked in the morning. Farmfield grey and green,bonnied by watchman's toil.You labourer,by your arithmetic bonce and perspiration,as a benefactor,the field is treacled with oleaginous emulsion,for fecundity and benediction,to draconian downpour,spew pointblank and diffuse to diaphanous percolation from the blue sky,yet cusp,with labourer's breath,heavenly showers banging loosely betwixt your temple and frame.This immortal medes and persia,framebreakers from babylon,with their tower of babel, cannot break.Grease you like hapless plants of the farmfield,the benediction above,corruscate in the thorny soil,in corrossion as the stress of a labourer.A farmfield's harvest is the guerdon,bounties avalanche,in your home,is bombshell to a stupefied modus viviendi,and overflowing vats,its esoteric opulence,albeit not mechanised,from soil tillage and burrowing with hoes and cutlass trigger of the earthwork,Your seedbed,weaned from the heavy sun and heavenly showers,we clamour.Farmfield treasure troves,patience

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