Where all of what was there Is redacted to pasture and ditches, Orchards and dairies. Cows Omnipresent but without Domain, heavy to drag The eternal calf in the udder, Or torment the fated poddy Bellowing in its lone stall. Morning and evening light Dappled and brindled by cows Drained to refill, great bulls Double-fenced and out of sight, Though voices carry clearly Across the plain; there are So many body aches and pains. And alongside driveways Of barren redbrick mansions, Those poplars planted in the '50s, The 'weed trees' denoting 'Home', suckers reaching out Until beheaded. In summer Heat, thin shadows thread Lines of cows, burning Outside the eye of needle. And birds perch, sometimes In season's precinct, within Its purlieus, they nest. Poplars Making best of the utility Behind their planting. And In blank winters of dark Mornings and dark afternoons, Poplar-spindles twine southerlies, Coil fences to their centres. Such leafless praise; maypoles In July. Somewhere in their Origins, poplars expect Separation of milk and cream, Vats of profit and tithes. Each cow lugs its haul past Poplars' thin forest marking Shortest distance between Animal and vegetable lives.