Gate Gossip by Max Fatchen

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I like our gate,
Its sturdy charm
That guards the entrance
To our farm.

It’s nice when shut,
Or open wide,
To sit upon
Or sit astride.

But gates are there
With things to do
Like letting sheep
And cattle through.

Our gate has bars
With several bends
From careless cars
Of farming friends.

The gateposts lean,
A little tired,
With fences stretching
Rusty-wired.

A country gate
Is surely best
To prop a farmer
For his rest.

With one foot up,
And elbows flat
Now who could pass
A man like that?

While every bit
Of iron will ring,
With all the
Rural gossiping.

The magpies fly
To sunset tree.
A voice impatient
Calls to tea.

Then whistling,
Home the farmer goes
As gate
And conversation
Close.

Source: A Paddock of Poems (1987)

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