My Crop

When I was your age, many years ago,
I worked on a farm for old farmer Joe.
I was milking the cows and harvesting the maize, 
every evening when the sun went down, I received such praise.
Farmer Joe prepared the corn for me to sit down and eat, 
along with fresh dairy milk, while their dogs played at my feet.
They didn't have a lot of money, they only ate the food that they grew,
But my hard labor was appreciated, when the days were through.
Each night the farmers wife fed me corn, ear after ear, 
I thought she would never stop. 
They were two of the most happiest people in town
all thanks to my crop.



10/16/2019
picture 3
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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