That Last Hay Ride

That Last Hay Ride

It was the last hayrack ride of the season.
All the leaves colors did deepen.
Winter had begun to beckon.
Crimson Maples were starting to brighten.

While the hay wagon rolled, we shared humor.
Some was light with a bit lending chiller.
Thanks for a blanket thick and warm,
Thanks also for that loose hay to conform.

Comfort was the order of the day,
We were surrounded by the aroma of hay.
Little did we notice the frost?
With our partners our thoughts were star-crossed.

Our spirits were pleasingly blithe.
The air was crisp cutting as a scythe.
We stopped for a wiener roast.
For a time we burnt marsh mellows like toast.

Good times end too soon.
We headed for home gazing at the moon.
That point in time was but a flicker.
Looking back it was a time of good humor.