In fields wide, under skies so vast and blue,  
My grandfather, a farmer true, did stride.  
With mule in tow, through earth, their bond they plied,  
Sharing secrets only the land knew.

"Hard work," he said, with a twinkle in his eye,  
"Is not just sweat that on your brow does bead.  
It's knowing your beast, understanding its need,  
And listening for the mule's contented sigh."

For in that moment, when the air shifts slight,  
With a mule's fart, a simple, earthy art,  
You know your work's done right, straight from the heart,  
In harmony with land from morning light.

This wisdom, passed down through plow and dirt,  
Speaks of more than just the soil we till.  
It's about bonds we forge, the roles we fill,  
And finding joy in work, and comfort in mirth.

So when the day ends, and shadows stretch long,  
I recall his words, a simple, profound part  
Of legacy, wrapped in a mule's silent start
A reminder of where true values belong.

March 12, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
Penned in Memory of Phil & Biscuit Sims Dad