The farmer pulls his plough across the clay
with all the power of two enormous shires
and in the furrows he creates there plays
a thousand birds, a hundred happy choirs.
Fast forward and look out your window now:
the horses gone and tractors rule supreme.
Mechanisation now will pull the plough,
but for the birds no changes it would seem.
The worms still rise and still is sown the seed -
The choirs will still return here for a feed.