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Before The Hay Grows Tall

When the snow and ice have melted,
And green creeps into all,
Our children own our acres
Before the hay grows tall.

Itís a joy to see their freedom,
And though they know we see,
Without a care they run as though
Into infinity.

Absorbed in the exertion,
Complete in joyousness,
The only boundary that they meet
Is their own weariness.

Then spring slips into summer
With occasional rainfall,
Their playground is diminished
When the hay grows tall.

They fret in our big shady yard
As though it were a pen.

And then one day the hay is cut ,
And they run free again.

Next winter when theyíre discontent
Within our cozy walls,
Iíll visualize the way they ran
Before the hay grew tall.

©2010 Carol Morfitt

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