Make hay while the sun still whispers,
Its golden fingers brushing the earth.
Bend your head once, twice, and sway,
Thrice, while singing to the wind,
Pause a fourth time, and let your gaze wander.
What have you caught in the shimmer of light?
How many memories drifted into your hands?
None? Ha ha ha!
A single day of toil
Can spill into eternal pleasure.
Work while strength flows through you—
Dark hair moves faster than silver strands.
The sun blazes brighter,
A celestial eye watching your diligence.
Do not let the hay wait—
It waits to carry the warmth of your labor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem