Herbert Nehrlich

Rookie (04 October 1943 / Germany)

Hay Season - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

The farmer wiped, flick of the hand
the perspiration off his weathered face.
The day was done and thanks to God
there'd be the itchy task of throwing fragrant hay
into the loft, to ripen and to rest for winter.
The wagon rolled through dusty streets
right through the center of his town,
a friendly wave, and now and then a nod,
a bit of cloud in from the East, perhaps it was
luck of the servant of the land, well-earned.


Comments about Hay Season by Herbert Nehrlich

  • (4/27/2006 8:56:00 AM)


    I love a poem which takes me to a time and place, especially to a person (if this makes sense) . Thank you for this poem. (Report) Reply

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  • (4/27/2006 3:36:00 AM)


    No luck involved Herbert. These wily old farmers know better than any weather forecaster, which I think is written in the furrows of your poem. Great.
    Danny
    (Report) Reply

  • (4/27/2006 2:33:00 AM)


    Sounds like a very happy and positive story.
    Love,
    Gina.
    (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 27, 2006



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