Classic Poem

The farmer knew each time a friend went past
Though he was deep in Sunday and his eyes
Were on the preacher or the azure squares
The high church sashes cut out of the skies
And on the dark blue serge upon his thighs.

Every time a man the farmer knew
Went by upon the road, the farmer's hound
On the church's wooden porch outside
Would thump his tail and make a pleasant sound,
His tail struck every time that it went round.

The farmer knew how well he knew each friend
Going by, he counted up the score;
If the passer-by were a plain friend,
There would be three thumps, or maybe four,
But if it was a good friend, it was more.

That would be Sam Rogers passing now,
And that would be Dave Merryman, all right,
For the hound-dog's joy flowed down his tail
And made it pound the planks with all its might,
He could not stop it going for delight.

The man in church sat back and glowed all through,
He heard the sermon, but it did not hide
The rhythm of the comforting old hymn
Of friendship that was going on outside,
And every inch of him filled out with pride.