I'm sorry for the Dead - Today - It's such congenial times Old neighbors have at fences - It's time o'year for Hay, And Broad - Sunburned Acquaintance Discourse between the Toil - And laugh, a homely species That makes the Fences smile -
It seems so straight to lie away From all of the noise of Fields - The Busy Carts - the fragrant Cocks - The Mower's Metre - Steals -
A Trouble lest they're homesick - Those Farmers - and their Wives - Set separate from the Farming - And all the Neighbor's lives -
A Wonder if the Sepulchre Dont feel a lonesome way - When Men - and Boys - and Carts - and June, Go down the Fields to "Hay".
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