New England Farmer.(Poem)

 
NEW ENGLAND FARMER 
 
   Often he would catch me 
   by surprise--the way he'd appear 
   in the distance and casually 
   walk across the paddocks, 
   his dog beside him or at his heels-- 
   after I'd arrive at work, 
   and say, "G'day, how's it going?" 
 
   His property bordered 
   the school where I taught 
   on the northern Tablelands, the high country 
   that lay among granite boulders 
   and treetops that clouds caught on 
   as they rolled in from the Pacific coast 
   and brought the rain, 
   the drizzles and mists--and when they did 
   we'd go indoors, to the fire, 
   talk about the city and the bush 
   before the hours of classes started. 
 
   Or, standing outside, 
   the sun warming our faces, 
   I'd watch him peer into the fenced-off 
   distances, drawing on a cigarette 
   that was never absent from his ...