The Poetry Corner

In Dorset Dear

By Fay Inchfawn

In Dorset Dear they're making hay In just the old West Country way. With fork and rake and old-time gear They make the hay in Dorset Dear. From early morn till twilight grey They toss and turn and shake the hay. And all the countryside is gay With roses on the fallen may, For 'tis the hay-time of the year In Dorset Dear. The loaded waggons wend their way Across the pasture-lands, and stay Beside the hedge where foxgloves peer; And ricks that shall be fashioned here Will be the sweetest stuff, they say, In Dorset Dear!