The Baler

Summer. More of the beautiful hayfields in front 

of the majestic blue-violet of the mountains on our trip. 
This photo was taken from the car-in-motion.

Here is another of the hay poems I have been collecting. I think I only have one more left, though.

The Baler

You tourist composed upon that fence
to watch the quaint farmer at his quaint task
come closer, bring your camera here
or fasten your telescopic lens
if you're too indolent; all I ask
is that when you go home you take
a close-up among your color slides
of vacationland, to show we pay the price
for hay, this actual panic: no politic fear
but tumbling wild waves down the windrows, tides
of crickets, grasshoppers, meadow mice,
and half-feathered sparrows, whipped by a bleeding snake.

Hayden Carruth (1926-2008).
from Collected Shorter Poems, 1946-1991 (1992).