Edmund Prestwich
The Trekwife
Our oxen travel on the earth so slow,
the vultures, looking down, would scarcely know
we’re slower when we stop than when we go.
I plod with Granny by the dawdling team.
The children ride behind, or chase and scream.
The silent mountains pace us like a dream.
My Jacobus says nothing as we roam,
but finds in me at night, sweet as wild honeycomb,
all comfort that he needs. Our wagon-bed is home.
Page(s) 47
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