Fa – the name of the Green Dragon

A Place for the Odd Musings of an Expat Bristolian


4 Comments

The Farm

THE FARM
There’s a farm atop that yonder hill
An old man plies his labours still
There’s grass enough for cows to graze
And crops he tends like beans and maize

He ploughed the sod when it was new
And in its clearing, trees he hew
He settled there before the road
Before cars were a transport mode

Horses and wagons ruled back then
His eggs fresh daily from a hen
Now alas, farms are fading fast
Dim reminders of our past.

When armed with scythes upon the mow
Our wheat was cut and with a bow
The sheaves were tied with the harvest knot
And food was cooked in an iron pot.

Nowadays if by chance a farm you find
It’s probably the corporate kind
There are no people going to and fro
Just machines that make it go

There are no farmers on the land
No more cow-men close at hand
And farmers’ wives are long-gone too
A dying kind, it’s sad but true.