Terminus

I When I hoked there, I would find An acorn and a rusted bolt. If I lifted my eyes, a factory chimney And a dormant mountain. If I listened, an engine shunting And a trotting horse. Is it any wonder when I thought I would have second thoughts? II When they spoke of the prudent squirrel’s hoard It shone like gifts at a nativity. When they spoke of the mammon of iniquity The coins in my pocket reddened like stove-lids. III Two buckets were easier carried than one. I grew up in between. My left hand placed the standard iron weight. My right tilted a last grain in the balance. Baronies, parishes met where I was born. When I stood on the central stepping-stone I was the last earl on horseback in midstream Still parleying, in earshot of his kernes.