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Going Farming

Author’s note: I grew up in Illinois. Sadly, I do live out west. I miss the rich, Midwestern soil (and work ethic).

I once visited Out West.

Stuck my hand in the dirt

Found only red dust.

And though I tried to hide the hurt

I shook my head in disgust,

I cannot retire here.

Give me thick, coal black soil

That glistens in the sun.

Ready for corn, soy or sorghum

Growing tall and proud

Just like my grandchildren

I’ll sing their praises aloud.

Give me a frosty morning

To think about farming

So I can crunch my way out

To the harvested fields

And dream about

Next year’s yields.

I know it will soon be covered

Under a blanket of snow,

And that is when I’ll take it slow

Breathe in the clean fresh air -

Visit my friends everywhere.

That will be how I will go.​

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