Well, here we are with the cold winter wind,
tractors are in the shed, crops are in the bin.
It won't be long before the wind and the sun,
dry all the fields and the tractors do run.
Things have changed for the good and I'll tell you why,
the corns taller than knee-high on the Fourth of July.
Early crops giving more heavy yields,
reach up to God on the flatlander's fields.
I've talked with some great old timers in this town,
about the old days when horses and plows tilled the ground.
Seems the legacy of farming will go on ‘til the end,
from the toil of the farmer and the crops as his friend.
Dedicated to Ab Wallers
This poem was featured in the Newman Independent News Paper on Feb. 21 2008
