American Farmer

He had tobacco on his whiskers, stains were on his shirt
His boots were brown and dusty, from shuffling through the dirt

In his hands he held the reins, to a team of Belgian mares
His face was red and wrinkled, by his worries and his cares

Gonna plant some taters, some corn, and some beans
Feed them through the winter, live within their means

He cared for forty acres, bought it from his Dad
Never made much money, the farm is all he had

His brothers and his sister, left and went to school
When he stayed to run the farm, they thought he was a fool

He raised up his family there, his wife, a boy, a girl
They were all he needed, the farm was their world

Later on the kids were gone, and then his wife, she died
He sat on the front porch swing, drank coffee and he cried

He had done all he could, all that God had asked
Here he was all alone, and time was fading fast

Running down towards the end, like an hourglass full of sand
This old American farmer, the Hero of our land.

Jim Campbell
Brown County, Indiana

(Jim was born on Smith Road in Brown County in 1940 and graduated from Helmsburg High in 1957. He retired from the Nashville Post Office, where he was a Rural Letter Carrier. Now he mows grass at Salt Creek Golf Retreat in the Summer, "loafs" all Winter, and writes poems when an idea comes to him.)