Family Farming Poem by John Leroy Maxwell

The cattle graze in pasture still
The plowmans horse, the soil to till
And soon the fields the farmer sow
His keep to earn, the crops he grow
Then harvest come, for it be fall
And once again his produce haul
To the market, far and wide
And dread the winter, to abide
Beside his stove, with family 'round
A greater treasure ne'er be found
To sing and dance, the stories told
And reminisce the days of old
This be the life, think not so bad
But sometimes happy, often sad
This be heritage, great or small
And this be winter, no more fall
The waters now, as hard as stone
The fields be white, the fences blown
Now settled down, in soft warm bed
To sleep 'til morn
The Good Book read