The Dales Way

 Squelching slalom of cow pat on the foot path.

Bee, hitching a ride on my back pack to a hay stack off the Dales track, by the river bank.

Sheep moan in a far field as if the long, everlasting grass was a raw deal, poor meal for the pleasant peasants.

Good enough for the ram to be on every gate post or lamb to be on every plate, roast potatoes but not for a barn though.

And so it goes, the ones we need the most, we leave to sew the seeds we take the crops from.

And they're the ones that when it comes to share the load the buck stops short on.