Hopeful as the streams neath springs melting snow
Broken rows teeming with April growth
Old farmers toil in the dog days-
of summer
Churning cracked land recalls the song of the vane
A poem for the plow-land they continually tame ..
Old farmers and their kind grow silent just -
as busy field houses , family and barns eventually surrender to -
the tug of the earth ...
Fighting the pang of winter for all they were worth ...