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.