By Janet Martin in Poems, Poetry & Literature

He whistles as he works; his voice is filled with fiery pep

He seems much younger than his years with keenness in each step

His day begins in early morn, machinery starts to sing

For weary farmers seem reborn when winter turns to spring

Prelude to wheat fields gleaming like gold oceans at high noon

Is poured from bag to planter to the lilt of zephyr tune

Where soft, upon the stilly dusk the hum of steely steed

Is heard as Farmer tills the dust and refills trust with seed

The air is heady with the blend of tractor fumes and blooms

And fresh turned sod; God stirs the soul in nature’s living rooms

Where it seems all creation is refurbished with the joy

Of sweet, sweet innocence reserved for childhood’s girl and boy

The farmer knows that hope and woe will wage their yearly wars

That highs and lows of price and temps are hinged to spring’s first chores

But still, he whistles as he works and dares to dream and plan

For spring, like a fountain of youth, works wonder in a man