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The dry day came The baler the same Walking behind they magically pop out We march to the call and gurn to the shout The lift is swift And the landing is firm On the steel trailer bed Nothing more to be said Off to the yard To the pile at the top We hide our protest Man, this is hot I can't see for the dust The smell of the hay Makes us lift faster I'll remember this day A neat puzzle is made My energy will fade Every bale must fit Every lift, one of grit The sweat and the heat This job is not complete Once more to the field To gather the yield
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Aug 19, 2020
Aug 19, 2020 at 5:36 AM UTC
Making hay
The dry day came The baler the same Walking behind they magically pop out We march to the call and gurn to the shout The lift is swift And the landing is firm On the steel trailer bed Nothing more to be said Off to the yard To the pile at the top We hide our protest Man, this is hot I can't see for the dust The smell of the hay Makes us lift faster I'll remember this day A neat puzzle is made My energy will fade Every bale must fit Every lift, one of grit The sweat and the heat This job is not complete Once more to the field To gather the yield
Memories of making hay on hot summers day in Northern Ireland in the 1980s.
mrbrianturner
Written by
United Kingdom
Aug 19, 2020
Aug 19, 2020 at 5:36 AM UTC
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