The Farmer

The Farmer Upon his field with sweating brow The farmer stood; quite sullen now. Potato plants had come up fine, With strength, and leaf on every vine. And now he looked o’er hill and plane No lush green plants did there remain. The storm had hit with vicious shout And shaking, shivering, strewn about… The farmers crop, was all but gone; How would their family carry on? The livelihood they’d grown The plants they’d started on their own. The hail had beaten every plant The vines and leaves were awfully scant Hail from Heaven, beat to hell The tender plants he’d nurtured well. With not a word, but furrowed brow, What would the farmer think of now. And to his knees he gently fell, He called on God, to bless the dell. He walked along the road back home. His step was lighter post his roam. His eyes were bright and face was strong, And in his heart there was a song. “No Fear”, he thought as he strolled home It’ll be alright, God’s on the phone I’ve done about the best I could I’ll “let it go, just like I should He rose to see another day. The sun upon the fields did play. His spirits high and without fear He went to fields he held so dear. Like soldiers on a battle field, The plants stood tall though shot and peeled They’re stationed for the mighty fight, with water, food, and warm sunlight. The Farmer smiled again, he knew That God would pull his spud crop through. He humbly went to bended knee, “ Thanks God, for thou remembered me”.