Some days my job I hate And I feel second rate On days when the frigid cold Makes my young body old Frozen hoses, iced up tanks, extra hay All conspire to add hours to my day Meetings cause me to sputter And pain makes me mutter
And on top of extra hours of work Mother Nature becomes a jerk I find the old hog dying Beside where she is lying A wall of ice I must erect So that no emotions I detect It keeps me from coming undone For Death’s lieutenant I become
As an icy wind there blows I pray for an end of lows But farm work is never gone And so I must march on For the others have need So I water and feed With the last bale of hay Finally comes the end of day
I pause on my way home To let my mind roam My breath I finally catch With the bull I play fetch I as watch him play My hate melts away So I thank heaven above I that I have a job I love
written by Polly Festa