A Memory of Harvest Time

The sun beats down on golden grains
Once more its harvest time again
The corn is ripe out in the field
An early start to get the yield

Birds that swoop and mice that play
Whilst running through the the fields of hay
The villagers turn out in force
Wives and girlfriends to of course

They come to gather or bear the yoke
Or just for fun to laugh and joke
To drink the cider or eat the cheese
Or feed the horse (if he agree's)

Not one harsh word from dawn to dusk
Through sweat filled eyes, and hands now rough
No thought of payment, said or heard
The very thought would be absurd

Those days now seem so long ago
For now you're either friend or foe
The combine has now replaced the horse
And only skilled labour used of course

But this is progress, you hear them say
Yet i preferred the older ways
The grown ups worked as the children play
\to reap the harvest, in the fields of hay



Poetry by penfold18
Read 464 times
Written on 2005-12-01 at 14:43

Tags Harvest 

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