What nicer experience than to find poems left for me by visitors to Acton Scott Farm?
Waiting inside the Shepherd Poet’s Hut yesterday morning was this, from a little girl and her parents:
I loved the immediacy of little Evie’s writing (scribed for her) with the bitter-sweet contrast of her father’s thoughts written beneath.
Later I met Liz, who took a Found Farm Poem Sheet and set off to amass her serendipitous ‘poem’ from the five Found Farm Poem Boards that I’ve scattered around the farm. She very nicely left it for me afterwards. This is what the Found Farm Poem Boards look like.
You pick up the ash twig that’s tied to the bottom of the Board with a red ribbon, shut your eyes and aim the twig at the Board. Then you write down on your Found Farm Poem Sheet the line of words your twig has landed on. Here’s what Liz came up with:
The holy time was the harvest
Bringewood Pippin, Ladies Fingers, Springrove Codlin, Tettenhall Dick
A fair stable with chambers over, glazed and ceiled
A woman is appointed to tramp the straw
This is the fruit bud, this is the leaf bud