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Diane Jackman
Norwich
UK
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Tall
and straight he stood. For all his seventy years, he could
still lay a hedge, plough a straight furrow. Craftsmanship
they call it now; to him a, job of work, necessary skill.
From farm-boy to farmer, pulled up by his bootstraps,
he said to those near, not boasting, just describing how
it happened.
How many miles did he walk silent beside the horses? Carting
from the fields, travelling the stallions, trudging along
muddy lanes to lonely farms and isolated villages. It
was his life to be with heavy horses, his dearest wish,
they should draw him to his grave.
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