Field of wheat, what did you do

to deserve being run through

by the chaff of this land,

did you ask for the vicar’s daughter

to act like a combine harvester,

to terrorise you, to rampage through

your hard work and denigrating you

into letting go of the nourishing wheat,

the hard decision in which one to save

because the footsteps, the running chaff,

tore at your foundations,

wiped out the hope of food for all

and allowed the following magpies,

black and white hedge head hunters