Fallow Year

Overthinking how sad the it's a fallow year at Glastonbury

Til the earth until it bursts,

Turns into fingertip.

The aimless horse will plough his course,

The soil will learn to grip.

 

Fickle, shallow fallow land,

Hollowed out again,

Follows sickly fallacy,

Balanced saccharine.

 

Furrowed land meanders on

behind the aimless horse.

Two timeless tines, bent crooked lines

Stretch time another course,

 

The horse now halts and rears and jolts

The plough sinks back in soil

The birds uplit will scatter, flit,

And scintillate like foil.

Author's Note

There's a lot I haven't figured out here. Mostly I want a better ending to the narrative so suggestions are welcome, as ever. Thanks :)