Nothing runs like a Deere

Hay

Driving the tractor, cutting the hay,

Row by row, a long hard day,

Down one edge and back again,

Sweat beads forming on his skin,

Piles of golden grass laid by,

Almost done, he breathes a sigh,

Wait to dry then hitch the rake,

Windrows will be next to make,

Contoured lines and lines so neat,

The hillside’s looking mighty sweet,

The mounds of hay are ready to bale,

Oh no, can’t be!  There might be hail,

The weather can be a friend or foe,

It could pour down, you never know,

He looks up at the darkening sky,

The heavy clouds are looming by,

He prays that God will spare the rain,

His patience he must now maintain,

Then sunshine breaks through the dark sky,

The threatening weather has passed him by,

A new day dawns and all is fine,

He gets the baler and gets the twine,

Square bales fall out onto the field,

Like giant sugar cubes, great is the yield,

A harvest once again is done,

After many hours in the sun,

He is tired, but in a good way,

He is thankful for his bales of hay.

Tammy Harvey  written:  6/12/14

I have a special place in my heart for the agricultural industry, and a great respect for farmers and the farming community.
This poem is a tribute to all those who toil in their fields year after year.