FERTILITY
Tommy Frank O’ Connor
Steel of plough or spade earths the seeds
In nests of dung, they die in giving birth.
Triplets, quads, shoots galore surge for spring
In league with hoof and wing in country air.
Roots, tubers snuggle deep in fertile mother,
Craving space, they stretch her belly thin.
Again steel drives into furrow,
Raising earth to feed and clothe new life.
Sun and rain encourage greening plumes
As breezes carry scented progress
To alert farmer’s senses. Disease
May threaten ripening but will die
At hands of jealous husband of the soil.
Ripe, ready excitation crackles.
Days mowing, digging, flailing, threshing,
Barns assemble nature’s cycle.
Another harvest, time to cherish
Guests, new friends to join with old
As people gather, goatskin rhythm dances
Into music of the marrow.
Tradition coaxes limbs to youthful zest
Commemorating yesterdays when crops
Perished in the womb, casting people out
To sow and grow their seeds in other lands.