Barley Mow

The field has found
The Midas touch.
Rabbits scatter
To the sheltered hedge
And soon 
The country church
Will brandish wheat ears
At the end of every pew
And swallows swoop
About the steeple top.
We, having watched
Such industry
Will sit at ease
To take a scoop of ale
Outside the Barley Mow.
And relish there
Our idleness.

JL August 24 13:37