Haybales

Haybales

Hot sun bakes oh my arms so red and scratched

Ahead the field bales dot the path remain.

Storms seen afar portent to harm unmatched;

Relief for beasts and land the threat of rain.

The task now done the bales away from harm

A neat crisscross they rest to dry and age.

Arms limp the door latch clicks upon the barn

A good job done though tired a farmers wage

Upon the porch we sit cool melon crisp

Parched lips embrace sweet juice and lemonade

Afar the storm its clouds some but a wisp

Roll down the field we rapt, a grand parade.

In nature’s time we farmers ken our place.

The work, though hard the right of our birthplace