Growing Fields
Going home I see the fields
Miles and miles of them
With the tractors made of steel
Raising dust into the wind
There are no barbed-wire fences
And visitors often go
To the edge of the field
And the scarecrow on a pole
Rain showers help everything grow
Including many weeds
And the farmer knows them all
And the encroaching trees
The farmer longs for the day
When he can get some rest
Though he continues working hard
And giving his very best
Harvest day finally comes
With few stalks behind
And the farmer is rewarded
For working all the time