Hay Rides

The live in the fields

With the grass as their bed

Then the shed is their home

Till to cows they are fed


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But first they can ride

In a bumpy old cart

Reaching up to the sky

They don’t spill; it’s an art



And along the way

Little things catch a ride

Mostly boys and some girls

Who won’t walk along side


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They slide and they jump

They sit, stand, and don’t fall

The bales have a great load

Yet they don’t squirm at all



The children, they do

For joy they can’t hide

The delight is so great

That comes from a hay ride


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