The End of June
On a beautiful June morning very early we made our way down to the fields,
The men had scythes to ring in all the bustle for the annual hay harvests,
We were a merry bunch and we stripped down to the waist in sunburnt groups,
At close of day we sat down in the deep cool grass of a hidden shady valley.
A cool stream clear as glass the shadows on the stream rippled and danced,
The shadows reflected circles of light on the stony bottom, a perfect day,
On the small bank an azure crowfoot waves to you in an evening light breeze,
The purple comfrey goes one better and dips its leaves in the crystal spring.
Hanging over the babbling stream branches droop over weighed by chestnuts,
We pick gooseberries, currants, ripe strawberries as the month slips away,
The cuckoo's departs and as a dark tinge of evening comes, glow worms glow,
We walk to our homes happy and tired over sweet bails of hay, lovely days.
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