Farmer Blue was a good man
He walks his land, he loves his fields
I see him daily in his blue shirt and big brimmed hat
dirt dust mud
pushing and carrying
tilling and seeding
his rows on rows
as Farmer Blue has done
when the train carried his produce
tracks gone long before
the last whistle heard when Wilson couldn't speak
Blue walking and working
gated houses built last year
fading in and out over the manicured
his fields long dead almost a century grown
he walks and works his fields from another time
fading in and out while the white Cadillac passes
Farmer Blue smiles and works
he fades in and out
he knows what the land needs
tells me to stay and enjoy
long ago his wife had passed
as the printed paper said Blue died too
dirt dust mud
tilling and working
my friend Farmer Blue