Everything Someday Turns To Dust Poem by Mark Heathcote

The dust is rolling down the cow lane
wherein winter it was a muddy river
leading to the heifers in the top field
sleeping in the wet grass by the M6 motorway
that only a week before we drove to Chester
and returned all forlorn to earn more pay.

But on that day, it was a muddy lane
we herded those 2yr old heifers home
friskily jumping back to the farmyard
in alarm to the sheepdogs nipping
at ankles and their dirt clinker-tailed
I remember housing them in a grey Nissen hut-

With an iron bathtub to drink from
I remember in the morning a dead beast
it lay in that bathtub upside down
feet legs, stiff like a pylon without a sound.
not a spark of life, just as they say,
everything someday turns to dust.