One of the earliest bits I could find. Actually written from observation in Wales. I liked it because it wasn't about a girl or my angst ridden adolescents.
Welsh Hill Farm
The wind is in rainbows of waving and shivering grass,
While shade after shade forms, and follows down hill after hill,
The eagle will cry, as it dives through the air for its kill.
The last of the shepherds are searching for last of the sheep,
As rabbits come out skirting woods and exploring the briars,
In the cottages women are building the first of nights fires.
Sleep walks about and decides how to enter the homes,
Crawls in through the window to stand in the gathering gloom,
And night rushes in to describe the dark face of the moon.
Now the grey dawn explodes like the milk bursting out from the cows,
The dogs waken up and the farm stretches ready for day,
The owls and the mice see the light and fade out of its way,
And the morning begins as the morning began yesterday.