How fond I am of farmers
and farmland grand and tilled,
With sprouting stalks of yellow corn
and leaves sprouting with arms outstretched toward
Brown earth and hay fanning gently in the wind of summer,
Waiting for harvest and cool summer days,
How long the rain will stay away
is a farming mystery,
When prayers unfold and wishes pass.
To see God’s job complete.
Inclement weather can there abound
until the season’s o’er.
Till browning backs and burning palms
for another year
are no more.
reminds me of living in iowa the only fond memory