Farmers Life
Everyday my father got up early
And put wood in the fireplace
With frozen fingers that bleed
From labor in the hayfield the day before
Caused by the white cold weather.
I'd walk and see my white cold breath brisk
When i breathe out the cold air
Slowly i rise and dress
Fearing the pain staking task of the pasture
Walking outdoors ready to commence another cold day of farming.
After long hours dad and i would come indoors
Smelling the wonderful aroma of cooked food
By my mom, dad's loving wife smiling at us
WIth golden brown bisuits, sweeten white rice
And tender hot steaks for dinner tonight.
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