A cloudless sky, a sunny day,
the perfect time to turn the hay.
As the rake turns round and round,
a rhythmic beat makes a wondrous sound.
The hay is flipped once again,
still there is no sign of rain.
As the tractor chugs along,
the rake and motor sing their song.
With sun shining down right now,
beads of sweat drip from the brow.
Wiped away with an old red rag,
quickly drenched like the old gray nag.
Soon the time comes to bail the hay,
and save it for the winter's day.
To feed the livestock on the farm,
as tails swish away flies that swarm.
The hay now bailed, placed in stacks,
ready for winter's ground attacks.
The tractor now is put away,
waiting for another day
When again it will be used to yield,
corn and wheat from every field.
I could write this poem very long,&
but the message now is very strong.
A day on the farm still the same,
time to quit and give this a name.
On the Farm the title will be,
a nice quick read for you and me.