The Farmer (a poem)

Filed in Gather Writing Essential by on June 17, 2008 0 Comments

My dad was a farmer, as were his dad and grandpa before him.  My mom's dad and grandpa were farmers too.  This is from my memories of all of them. 



Without delay he's up each day
before the crack of dawn.
After breakfast, a kiss from his wife,
he yawns and pulls his work boots on.

Out the door he stands with pause
to smile at the gold-blue sky.
The rooster crows and the man steps off
with purpose in his stride.

There's livestock to feed and fences to mend,
till the soil and plant some seed.
His list of chores has no end
for there's a hungry world to feed.

This is what he's called to do
as steward of God's good Earth.
Like his father and the fathers before,
'twas passed to him by birth.

The sun has set and he's earned the right
to relax on his old back porch.
He shuts his eyes and breaths in the night
praying tomorrow he'll rise once more.



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