I'm sorry for the Dead Today

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 Neighbors’ lives

A Wonder if the Sepulchre
Don’t feel a lonesome way
When Men and Boys and Carts and June,
Go down the Fields to “Hay”

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I'm sorry for the Dead Today