The Old Farmer
Down the old stony lane, leafy and green,
Bumpy and rough all the way.
Goes ancient old Bart, by pony and cart,
To his quaint little shack by the bay.
And there for eight decades contented and free
With nature his only command.
As the seasons rolled by, with a smile in his eye,
He farmed his parcel of land.
He wakes every morning as the cock crows dawn
And the hedgerows are singing with birds.
And faithful old ‘Shep’ is by his doorstep
With affection much sweeter than words.
They stroll o’er the stonewalls and fields of green
To the sheep grazing high on the hill.
With ‘Shep’ by his side to serve and abide
With the sound of the old whistle drill
And then by the crest they sit down to rest
As the sweet sounds of Nature abound,
No worry or doubt, the world’s shut out,
Contentment and peace all around.
And when as the darkness descends o’er the bay
In peaceful and pensive mood,
With a mug of tay, he ends his day,
Of blissful and sweet solitude.