Harvest time; first we piled the bales high
On the trailer, carted them from field to barn
Sons of farmers and village urchins we became architects
Future participants perhaps for Kevin’s Grand Designs
The main space was deep inside the piled bales
The entrances, and exits, had twists and turns
Part to keep people from knowing of our secret den
Part, as Jenny says ‘to secretly discover our sexual selves’
As the winter wore on, and the cattle needed feeding
Our den was dismantled; bale by bale, day by day
First the entrance, then the exit, then the small
Cavern, which had been immense, with boys laughter
