3 result(s) for Busy Day On The Farm Poems.
These poems are completely original - not copied from anywhere. Feel free to use them however you want.
Hooves Across the Fence Line
Before the sun has cleared the hill,
the barn door groans, the farmhands call,
and down the lane, with thunder's sound,
the horses gallop, hooves pound.
A chestnut mane flares in the wind,
a bay follows, eager, thinned
by speed, by joy, by morning air,
they skim the fence like flying prayer.
The rails blur past in painted streaks,
the dust rolls up in golden peaks,
and chickens scatter, dogs bark loud,
the busy farm grows bright and proud.
By noon the herd will settle down,
the plow will bite the furrowed brown,
but for one moment, wild and free,
the horses race past every tree.
Morning Dew Boots
Before the sun has cleared the hill,
the farmer's boots begin to walk,
through silver grass, so cold and still,
where every blade is lit with chalk.
The gate swings wide, the hens cry out,
the cows low softly from the shed,
and every step leaves prints about,
like ink on pages, freshly spread.
By noon the fields are wide and warm,
the tractor hums its steady tune,
and dew has lifted in the storm
of work that rises with the noon.
At dusk the boots come slow and deep,
the day's long labor in their stride,
and dreams of morning, dew, and sheep
are waiting when the lamps are inside.
Evening Chores
The barn doors creak as daylight fades,
and dust rolls gold through fading rays.
The cows are fed, the fences mended,
and all the day's hard work is ended.
My boots are heavy, caked with mud,
my shoulders ache from lifting, but no need to fuss.
The sun sinks low, a copper glow,
laying its warmth on fields below.
My hands are rough, my palms are worn,
but each blister tells of a day well sworn.
From dawn's first crow to dusk's soft call,
the farm has asked for me through it all.
So here I rest, with coffee cold,
the stories of the fields still to be told.
Sun sets on tired, happy hands,
and tomorrow the farm again demands.
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