Poem ~ Grass, Hay

GRASS, HAY 

We grubbed out the apple trees, ploughed

and weeded, and waited through the winter

then we harrowed, seeded and rolled. 

I would never have guessed the beauty 

captured in the movement of long grass

the sway and flow of it in the wind.

And now, after mowing, before 

the first of three turns, I am entranced by 

the felt weight of it already turning gold.

If you wish, you can add your own analogies

here: effort, timing, patience, reward. 

Or, you can just stay with the grass

watch the wood pigeons settle 

on the layered tresses searching for seeds.

Close your eyes, breathe. The scent of it.