Who is this man who ne’er retires
For whom this decade fled so fast
A small man but persistent, ninety now
And yet the fruit doth flow and flow
And Harold sees it come and go.
A decade since I wrote a piece
Recalling fifty years of fruit
In two great orchards based round here
The joys, the progress and the woes
Bags, crates and boxes changing go.
But Harold soldiers nobly on
While many funerals he has seen
Now Tuesdays off and Sundays too
And snoozes in the afternoon
But otherwise it’s still all go.