The Farmer at Harvest

The Farmer at Harvest

He planted in the cold when the ground was still resisting,
He watched the weather every day with his full listing,
Of what needed rain and what needed sun and what needed wait,
He had been farming forty years and he knew his fate.

The farmer at harvest standing in the field he grew,
The farmer at harvest, the pride is entirely true,
Every seed was planted by his hand in the right spot,
The farmer at harvest earned what other people forgot.

He does not need the ceremony or the newspaper spread,
He needs the yield to match the work that he has led,
Into the ground across the season of the patient year,
The farmer at harvest has a pride that is sincere.

His sons came back from the city when the harvest came around,
They worked beside him and remembered all the sound,
Of growing up in the field and the lesson of the yield,
The farmer at harvest has the proudest kind of shield.