2. The Seed Cutters

They seem hundreds of years away.Breughel
You'll know them if I can get them true.
They kneel under the edge in a half-circle
Behind a windbreak is breaking through.
They are the seed cutters. The tuck and frill
Of leaf-sprout is on the seed potatoes
Buried under that straw. With time to kill
They are taking their time. Each sharpe knife goes
Lazily halving each root that falls apart
In the palm of the hand: a milky gleam,
And, at the centre, a dark watermark.
O calendar customs! Under the broom
Yellowing over them, compose the frieze
With all of us here, our anonymities.

Seamus Heaney, North, Faber and Faber, 1985.