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Poem

There are clouds on the horizon
Winds are blowing in from the east
The washing's still out on the line
And the Sunday's best is all creased

The cows are waiting on their feed
For the prairie grass in long gone
We can see they're growing restless
And they'll need milking come the dawn

The eldest now talks of college
It's a doctor he wants to be
From the time he was ten years old
He would say "farming's not for me"

Mary passed away last August
The youngster was thrown from her horse
Her memory is precious
Though we live with the remorse

The winter is fast approaching
Now's the time to stockpile supplies
We'll begin gathering those things
On which the whole family relies

Eventually spring will come
As the cycle of life renews
Calves will be at their mother's side
As, too, spring lambs to the ewes

Even though I love this hard land
I know one day I will retire
I hope I get a chance to live
A long time before I expire

I'll open the gates, set herds free
And I'll let the land go its way
Since there's no one to follow on
This farm belongs to yesterday

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