This is a double entendre with farming.
Tonight I farm, Four seasons to nurture in one. Animals are asleep, equipment in the shed, All gates are locked and done. The land needs stripping of weeds, All slopes and valleys are clear. Trees from the highest hill From the ground they grow and appear. A scent, a good year, the glen is rich. I perspire, am hot and dry Leaning forward I sip from the oasis before me The world moves it seems and I sigh. My body tills, ploughs, rips and scours And there’s hours of moans, oh the noise. Finally millions of seeds are sown in rows Now to rest, this warn out boy.
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