Growing Fields

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