Cowering winds fearful of the darkening cloud
of hurling battered 'marches'
not spared
the back-ripping flood
of fields raked by shards of faceless mask
hurl skies that sting torn
in the flesh-trees sores by the skewerer
tearing shelter and its naked barbed branch
fends the fierce lance of spring
that harpoon
of open season
storm's winter of sins
that levelling of compulsion
that breaking the barn doors
reeking of rain-filled damage
that skin the fragile life
farming the fear
whilst farming the life