Farmers’ Song

I’d like to sing for those who till the soil,
A song of spring and life and growing things,
A song for those who fulfill their lives with honest toil
And begin anew with hope through many springs.

A song of hope for rains to quench the earth,
For sunshine to motivate the buds to bloom
For leaping calves and lambs and chicks, this season’s birth
And waving hay to feed and to perfume the air of June.

I’d sing of sunburned shoulders wet with perspiration
Of rolling hills and fences solid, neatly made
Of plodding horses—past—and roar of mechanization,
The sweetness of cool well water in the shade.

My song would have to tell of rains that came too late,
Of years when good fortune eluded all the tries,
When plans built toward for years seem to frustrate
And hay that should be drying sees only leaden skies.

It would tell of autumns gold with bulging bins,
Of winters of contented cattle crunching hay,
Of struggling to care for them through cutting winds,
Of full tanks and fulfillment at the end of day.

I’d like to sing of those who till the soil,
Who reap the world’s sustenance from yielding sod,
And persevere in sun and rain, success and setback in their toil,
And feel in every element the sustaining hand of God.