I wish to write an extra blog entry in Memory of my dad who was a farmer. A card of my dad we were given at the funeral home is shown below. On the back was a poem titled "The Farmer".
THE FARMER
With many hungry folks to feed,
A farmer plants a tiny seed,
Then watches Father make it rise
And grow to many times its size.
With tractors, planters, big machines,
He sows his corn and wheat and beans.
He works long hours out in the field
And prays he'll have an ample yield.
He drives his tractor to and fro
And plants his crops all in a row,
And then he looks to God for rain
And things he needs to grow his grain.
No bosses, unions, punching clocks,
Just deer and birds and hauling rocks,
Plus subsidies and price controls
And matching wits with pesky moles.
From early morn to close of day,
He works in dirt and mud and clay.
In jeans and boots he stands tall,
For God's blessed farmers most of all.
Gilmartin Funeral Home & Cremation Company, Inc.
In the picture below dad, at 92, is walking from the woods across his wheat field toward his home.
We miss you dad.
