I’ve read Symanntha’s blog, Failing at Haiku, for some time. The hay bales are a beautiful sight to me, and good to read her poem.
Hay Season
Gnarled hands hold a battered jug
Cold sweet water quenches thirst
Clouds roll in and dad surrenders
Dust cakes clothes, faces, and hands
Sun beats down, burning skin
The hay is still not in
The scarred jug bounces home again
Ice long melted is replaced
The jug makes its journey back
Leaking sweetness to the mouth
Holding steady in the sun
This season’s work is almost done
Rake and bale, ‘round again
Will it ever end
National Blog Posting Month is almost over. Have you enjoyed it?
Poems From Oostburg, Wisconsin 
Love driving through the country and seeing round bales in the fields!
Enjoyed the poem, there is just something special about cutting and baling hay. There is a peacefulness about it for me. Of course, I am not doing the extremely hard work!
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I love this too, Ellen. There is something special in seeing those hay bales and Symmantha’s poem was a blessing.
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