Song of the Mowing Machine

Up in the morning at break of day,

Breakfasting the cattle with grain and hay;

Currying horses and cleaning stalls,

Orders subdued by the roosters’ calls.

Making all haste in the cool of dawn,

Starting to mow ere the heat comes on;

Horses and men arrayed for the scene,

Joining the song of the mowing machine.

                 Refrain

     “Rattlety-rattlety,” to and fro,

     Like lightning the keen-edged cutters go;

     The waving grasses, supple and tall

     Like platoons of wounded soldiers fall.

     “Rattlety-rattlety,” click and clean,

     Rises the song of the mowing machine.

Down in the hollow and up on the hill,

Backing and turning, the drivers will;

Tugging and toiling the long swaths through,

Washing their feet in the morning dew.

Pausing awhile ‘neath the sheltering oak,

Lighting the strain with a quip of joke.

Halting to drink in the cool ravine,

Helping the song of the mowing machine.

                 Refrain

     “Rattlety-rattlety, click, click, click,”

     Leveling the grasses green and thick;

     Mellowed at times by the driver’s “Whoa!”

     Steadily onward the cutters go.

     Labor and music, and rests between,

     Welcome the song of the mowing machine!

July 5, ’09