An Old Farmer's Monologue.

AN OLD FARMER'S MONOLOGUE

The fine flock brays in the grey, cold dawn
When tiny birds whistle and have fun;
I leave my bed to see how they fare
And lead them out to bring calm and cheer.
I love to see the real man I am --
For who shall fight for each helpless lamb
If I leave it within hunger's grasp
And keep my rest in my craving clasp?

When chewing sounds take the clean, cool air,
I stand akimbo, having no chair
And know that eating shall make them grow
And end my stomach's or pocket's woe.
Is my care love or is it for gain,
For the greedy give to evade pain?
And each day has hidden tests for all,
Which are vital -- whether big or small.