The Farmer

 

In the beginning, my place was set.

To feed and cultivate the weak
From the trough, my story began.
So that the babes I feed may live

It is a constant cycle.

Working everyday with Levi on my bib
The light breathing life into my crops
The rain washing out its impurities

In the fall, the harvest is destined.

There is pain and joy in the end.
Our fruits produce bread for the winter.
We build our lives around the faith of risen dough in the morning.

This is the legacy I leave.

To constantly remain behind the ox and plow
With Levi emblazoned on your bib
Helping keep the weak fed.
For in the end, the dough will rise in the morning.