In the heat of the day he would
Open out the doors of his tractor
So that they would beat in and out
Like wings, to cool him while
He circled the meadow that receded
To the one last swathe he cut with relish,
Before setting the mower for the road home.

Though in his old age the neighbours
Would complain him for taking the road
For a meadow and opening out the doors,
So that he looked like he was riding
Some great blue bird that beat its wings
To lift into flight, while the cars stalled
In his wake and drivers blared their horns.