Hayfield
It is the syrup in the grass
that must be caught, the sweet juice drawn
up from the roots and brewed in leaves
until the stalks are full from joint
to joint like little pipes of ale
mellowing in late midsummer.
And quick, before the last leaf dries
or roots withdraw, it is the sap
in grass that must be cut and left
to crystallize in fibers, preserving
like honey in mummy's chest a
the blade and vein intact, storing
the high sugars of the sun in
aromatic teas, tobaccos,
and little corn of timothy
and slender sorghum's golden flutes,
to scent the barn and sweeten milk
far into the bleaching winter.
---Robert Morgan
---found in Poetry (April 1987)