Downtrodden he peers,
One brow always cocked higher than the other,
Like a minor character in
Madame Bovary.
But those Norman towns
Sun-swept in a ciderhaze
So far from Arles!
If he did not rise each morning
And to Brockhall go
He would surely be one of those
Perpetually anonymous caricatures -
The French peasant
Avec pitchfork, hay bailer, cap wearer,
Moleskin waistcoat too tight
Braces a-loosed.
