String bags and ...(edit)

[R.C. KITCHENS]

I fear this one is sadly lacking in depth and still needs a lot of work, but was just wanting to write something... so here goes!

String bags and plastic wrap.
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Slipping smooth green shafts past worm casts,
a long term ley is set aside for a meadow hay.
Sun drawn and softly soaked, the root reaches of mice
and armoured ants are defined amongst the forested trunks
of cellular ranks. Swaying and eased by a seasoned breeze.

A badgered trail winds its way - a ripple in my sward.
A kiss of early summer mist, lingers with dew-dropped bliss.

reads better without a comma

Daisy ox, eyes me,
as I scythe my way through her outer ranks,
I am roughly bit by the hawk, Commonly bent
yet Self healed by a burnt salad.

self doesnt need to be capitalized

The Cocksfoot crests the Dogstail and small
Timothy beds his Lady’s straw, mindless
of Sheepish fescues festering under the Golden oats.
A pastoral symphony in perfect harmony,
a flowery flotilla of aroma notes.

Moving
from my hedged in shade I pass Plantained
Tufted hair, under-sown with lush leafed Clover. Yarrow leaves,
pleased to off-load the bumbled plunder of overflowing Butter cups,
pass on the kiss with downy, toe teasing tears;
a joyous rolling Gloria that glides with Sweet Vetched delight,
over Creeping red lipped carpets, a remarkable Lark, Swallowed
shortly before the final lift of the Swiftly following major fall.

I think "major" could be dropped

Back and re-booted I mount my metalled beast.
Suitably geared, I to start edit each and every green celled note.

Slipping smooth steeled shafts through the sublime;
line by line, the opening chorus lifts before the final fall.
The sun reclaims her kiss. Redacted dew-dropped bliss
is withdrawn, softly sucked by solar soaked winds,
which pluck the laid out lines – now crushed and silent.
Tossed from side to side, each fragrant note
blanches under a final morning misted kiss.

The winter shadows fall and I pause as I close the barn door;
within, the contented munching begins and rising on the sweet
breath breeze, aroma notes are drawn from string bags and plastic wrap
and once again begin to sing… and I long for barefoot summer days.
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It is all intact and has great imagery. Only spotted a few things, it is packed with imagery. good work.