There was another farmer that died today,
That happens far too often than I care to say,
The times of his life forever stands,
In the lines and scars etched on his hands,
His life of stress, hard work and day long toils,
Are reminders of what it takes to till the soils,
The works of his life were marked by seasons,
His wife and children were always the reasons,
That he chose and maintained this style of life,
For all of those years right by his side stood his wife,
They faced each year with all new kinds of ambitions,
And for decades they always maintained traditons,
The crop yields and prices varied from year to year,
But they faced each and every one with hope and little fear,
But as time and the hard work wore this old farmer down,
Until the very end he resisted the request to move into town,
So I am sure that I can say this with no hurt or harm,
The old man was lucky and he passed away on his farm,
So he moves on to his heavenly place with no chagrin,
And says, given the chance, I would do it all again.