Crop Spraying

Evening air was often filled with sound

So full so rich, Merlin engine roared

Across our sky, Spitfire homeward bound.

But this was something new to see

Dropped over hedge, dropped over tree

Flew under power lines and things

Streamed white fluid from its wings.

It sprayed the crops that did grow

Down in our marsh, up on our hill.

It was no wonder that in later life

Many folks, old and young grew ill.

Martin Delemare

14^th October 2008

Extract from "Marsh Quarter"