A. H. WILSON

  

The Farmer is a lover of the Land;

No Farmer he who labors but for gain.

When all the cows are milked, and broken grain

Thrown to the chickens, and the peaches canned,

The fences mended, and the nude sheep stand

Relieved of their wool coats at chilly dawn,

His fancy is to plant a lily pond--

For more than just a Farmer is a Man.

He builds a tiny cabin at that place,

And sets beside it on the sandstone ledge

A painted laborer of fired clay,

Whose shadow will not scare goldfish away.

That all this work is good, he sits to judge

Upon his porch swing, at the close of day.