The best of days is drying in the hay,
when your work is done
when overalls are washed and hung.
The best of days is drying in the hay,
when children come home from school
chant and laugh like doubled-over fools.
The best of days is drying in the hay,
when sleep descends, idle hands
when our time has but lost nearly
all but a few small grains of sand.
The best of days is drying in the hay,
when threshed like wheat, we, too, fly away…
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