Bails of Hay

Today is hard, today is slow,

Like grass in fields, we too must know,

That seasons change, like winds each day,

And so must we, to bails of hay.

But do not dither, dare not stop,

You, the bucket – each day, a drop.

And if it fills – how lucky you are,

For many men won’t fill a jar.

And so we go – and grow each day,

Before we turn to bails of hay.