The Farm Yard (Refrain Stanza) Poem by Gert Strydom

The smell of bales of alfalfa on the wind does come through,
in the middle of the sky at twelve o'clock the sun hangs true,
a red tractor draws a dusty line in the field
and against the burning sand I cannot my eyes shield
and it's a lovely day and the sky open and blue,
it's silent in the yard and the peace cannot last
and this is what I do remember from my past
where there is great pleasure in everything I do,
in the middle of the sky at twelve o'clock the sun hangs true.