The hay bales are in the fields again,
Some wrapped in black, some are bare,
I remember your fascination
When the doughnut machine held your stare.
Like a young child, with hands behind
Your back you stood at the window,
Watching the harvesting that sunny day
Your pleasure grew and grew.
Never having seen it before,
This memory lingers still,
You and the wonderful doughnut machine
Reminds me, and always will.
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