There is a loveliness in harvest – the sight of golden hay
in bales of straw, each sunny day
the soft and strong, the call to play
throughout the dales, the Pennine Way.
The screams of running children – the voices of delight
in games of running, jumping might
and hide and seek, in fright and flight
The golden summer’s Right.
The Kissing glimpse of couples – romance in tender joy
On top the hay bale, hidden, coy
beside – the haybales’ girl and boy
that laughing, playing, tickling toy.
The Farmers fruits of Harvest – a year of cropping done
the hard work bundled, grains now won
the strength of bound and seasoned tonne
and out on show for everyone.