La Fenaison, Julien Dupre (1884)
Haymaking, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Smelling the new mowed hay forever stays,
In your heart and your soul in many ways.
Body fatigued from the ever long days,
Dissolved by beautiful songs of great praise.
Her joyous voice that of a meadow lark,
Shall sing her praise until it’s nearly dark,
For such a bounty from earth’s matriarch,
Who has shown to be her greatest bulwark.
Looking around at the work that’s been done,
The land given its hay is now barren.
This season shall see no further action,
The wonder of it all makes me chasten.
To be connected to this hallowed earth,
Brings with every season thankful rebirth.