I like it. It's a reasonable likeness. But more than that it has soul- and a certain air of valediction. It's as if the man had returned to his home for one last fond look around.
"There's a rumour down the field where the year has shot its yield
And the ricks stand grey in the sun.
Singing, 'Over now, come over
For the bee has left the clover
And your English summer's done.'