Autumn in Mayo
Days of paddling in the sea cease to be,
Gold fields call red tractors to plough.
Birds hop, spring picking worms with glee.
The farms brimming in heat with sow,
Silage wrapped tightly in plastic wrap.
Children play conkers among the fowl.
The farmhand slumbers under his cap,
Crisp autumn air flows through the field.
From the bee hives and trees ooze sap.
Moon shines as they pull in the yield,
Fishing boats hauled up the stone slip.
In the cottages spuds are being peeled.
Sheep relieved and de-fleeced after their dip,
Homeward bound, the men go for a kip.