Thumbs in the pockets
Of torn blue jeans and muddy boots
Up with the sun and down with the moon

Sweat on the brow
Calloused hands
The heart beats of a sturdy man

A job forgotten made this land
Tall oak trees and gravel roads
Turned the fields and plowed the snow

Simpler times came and gone
A new beat, a different song
Not proud of his work more for pay
Losing sight of his father’s work—just yesterday

Rakes and shovels lay now rusted
A skilled workers hand’s once trusted
To craft a home and make a living
Torn down now by those so unforgiving

The farmer lays his head to rest
A lonely bird—an empty nest
the last to take flight
for here he lay
no food, no water die he may.