Andrew H.

Hay Harvest

The farmers are working on the hill
Enveloped by the great bowls of hay
Some have stopped to eat their fill
They work for long to earn their bread
And return home at the end of the day.

Behold the tree still young and growing
The workers rest against its trunk
Cooled down by the light sea breeze
And their dry throats cooled with water
There is much hay still to be cut.

Five times the bells ring from the church steeple.
It signals the end of the day in the field
Supper is set on the table at home
They are happy with their yield
Tomorrow they will return to hay again.


Copyright 2002-2008 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2008 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.