An Analysis of 'Follower' by Seamus Heaney
An Analysis of ‘Follower’ by Seamus Heaney
My father worked with a horse plough, His shoulders globed like a full sail strung Between the shafts and the furrow. The horses strained at his clicking tongue.
An expert. He would set the wing And fit the bright-pointed sock. The sod rolled over without breaking. At the headrig, with a single pluck.
Of reins, the sweating team turned round And back into the land.…
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