Down on the farm …
What is this in my Pop’s hand?
It’s a little black seed that he plants in the land.
“How does it grow?” I ask my Pop,
He tells me how he looks after his crops.
I wonder aloud, “Do you plant with a spade?”
He tells me how his crops are made:
In bygone years tools were pulled by a horse,
Now we have tractors to take the force.
Our little bear at five years old
Is taking it in, and learning tenfold,
Like the sun and rain helps the crops to grow,
She’s growing from Pop telling all that he knows.
Down on the farm, you can see that she thrives,
What a special time to have when you’re five.
She explores with her cousins, and a grown-up too,
With the farm at her feet, there’s so much to do.
Today she’s dressed up, she’s been a Princess all day!
But usual attire is for outdoor play.
Good job we remembered her Frozen wellies,
For trudging through soil and farmyard smellies!
No matter, it washes, who cares about dirt?
With soil in her nails, mud on her skirt,
She’s having a ball, she’s free, she’s alive!
Memories to last for the rest of her life…
By Carol Cameleon 2015
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