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. 

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