Clouds of Hazy Hay

The mower blades the grass

smells fresh, green foliage

only to turn to brown clumps

upon the lawn

in a days turn

beneath the sun.

 

Piled across the field

once laid

with blades

as high as knees

beneath the trees embracing

coolness and shade.

 

Now that work is through

the rake follows next

to erect in mounds

the grasses bound to grow again

beneath the soil

sprouts once more

the toil

of the mower's blade

must again

take to chopping

as the summer rains

have brought the grass

to cropping up again.

 

The chores of farmlife

never end

yet begin anew each day

in clouds of hazy hay.

 

 

Reviews

[sheilae]

the artist certainly has experienced the back breaking work of making hay..
the poem truly put the reader right there ,in the field,sweat stinging the eyes,itchy chafe annoying exposed skin...I feel the sun,smell the bouquet of hay..
very nice ,thank you.

[Kara Emily Krantz]

gorgeous. loved the free format of it, then the way you tied it together in the last verse. :)

this brought me back to my summers in vermont, with the smell of manure, and fresh green everywhere. cows and hay and the beautiful smells of the earth. this poem invoked all these images and scents,and more.

LOVE It :)

hugs

[E. M. Murren]

Ah... nature! I really love nature. You have really described what might be a really boring job so artistically that it seemed intriguing. Wonderful work.

[Ken Simm.]

Ah Cider with Rosie. I love the line hazy hay. I can smell it even now through this. Evocative.