Hay Days

Pushing the hay

Stacked up against the ground

We rolled it

We pound it

We watched it mould

Into something of old

Sheltered us from the cold and rain

Sheltered from voices of words

We just did not want to hear

Hideouts for Indians and chieftains alike

Tunnels were built to hold us like arms of nature’s warmth

Spinning it like large wool machines

All we had was out hands to fold it between

Along came the apples that fall from the trees

The half eaten ones crumbled by bees

Running along and climbing half scraped knees

We pushed ourselves racing through cycles of life

We enjoyed those days

Under the sun summer haze

Slight breeze pushed itself through the warm moisten air

Clothes flew along the skyline lair

Butterflies grabbed pollen from the flowers centres

Suckling its inner breath of scent

Flying away in delightful dance

Sitting by the riverside gathering daisies in a trance

Flies tip toe along the top of the water top

Almost doing kind of hop

Steam swelters over the horizon hill

Broken empty pockets of dandelion

Brothers playing music on his mandolin

Don’t know if he has quiet got it yet

Until he does I won’t hold my breath

As the evening and night closes in

We sit on the white washed fence

And chat for hours until it is time

For us to go in

Tucked up in bed

Cosy to our toes

And will do it all again

Maybe some adventure

Who knows