The Old Man and the Hay

I'm another year older
The hay gets no lighter
400 bales to be stacked
8 bales high


Each year I dread
the start of this day
He brings the first load over
A veritable mountain to me



So I start to stack hay
Edge up, all interlocking
Grunting as I put them up high
First load is stacked and the next one comes...



I worry that the horses will outlive my strength
Someday I may have to pay to bring it in
The cost of hay grows every year
And soon my income won't



We didn't consider this when we set up our barn
How quickly age happens, muscles weaken
We said the work would keep us young
Maybe wishful thinking, but for now -


I have gotten the rhythm
Unload - move - lift - stack
Thoughtless work, mind wandering
stack grows, work feels good


Each year I love
the end of this day
Done - tired, itchy but glad I still can
And the hay smells so sweet in the mow