Everything Someday Turns To Dust

The dust is rolling down the cow lane wherein winter it was a muddy river leading to the heifers in the top field sleeping in the wet grass by the M6 motorway that only a week before we drove to Chester and returned all forlorn to earn more pay. But on that day, it was a muddy lane we herded those 2yr old heifers home friskily jumping back to the farmyard in alarm to the sheepdogs nipping at ankles and their dirt clinker-tailed I remember housing them in a grey Nissen hut- With an iron bathtub to drink from I remember in the morning a dead beast it lay in that bathtub upside down feet legs, stiff like a pylon without a sound. not a spark of life, just as they say, everything someday turns to dust.