I walk across the field in gloves

I walk across the field in gloves
that shield my diseased hands from the summer sun
I look at the butterfly that roves
and lands on a primrose, small and wan.

 

I walk across the field in gloves
The train going by blocks out the sound of the birds
I stop, watch the train as it moves
and walk on again, listening for those songs without words.

 

I walk across the field in gloves
faster now, as I think of my friend
and her children, all full of love
for me, waiting at my journey's end.

 

I walk across the field in gloves
but slower, with a smile I don't try to hide
thinking of the man who loves me
and will wait for me this evening by the fireside.

The original

 

To a fat lady seen from the train
by Frances Cornford

O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody loves,
Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
When the grass is soft as the breast of doves
And shivering sweet to the touch?
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?

After I'd written mine, above, I found this, which of course is a much better takedown, and makes me like Chesterton more.


The Fat White Woman Speaks

by G. K. Chesterton


Why do you rush through the field in trains,

Guessing so much and so much?

Why do you flash through the flowery meads,

Fat-head poet that nobody reads;

And why do you know such a frightful lot

About people in gloves as such?

And how the devil can you be sure,

Guessing so much and so much,

How do you know but what someone who loves

Always to see me in nice white gloves

At the end of the field you are rushing by,

Is waiting for his Old Dutch?