Bucolic

In the heat of days
The hay is mowed
The bins are filled
And from field to field
The vermin flee the blades

In times of need
The rows are hoed
The clods are tilled
And the seedy fields
Will feed the hardy crows

Hands work the mill
Will works the hands
Youths mill about
And wives wring their hands
Till men pay the bills

Pity loves sorrow
Sorrow suits doves
Sorrow feeds pity
And men in city suits
Find time to borrow love

A single golf clap? Or a long standing ovation?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.