Farming poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best Farming poems ever written. Read all poems about Farming.
As the Sun withdrew his rays from the garden, and the moon threw cushioned beams upon the flowers, I sat under the trees pondering upon the phenomena of the atmosphere, looking through the branches at the strewn stars which glittered like chips of silver upon a blue carpet; and I could hear from a distance the agitated murmur of the rivulet singing its way briskly into the valley.
When the birds took shelter among the boughs, and the flowers folded their petals, and tremendous silence descended, I heard a rustle of feet though the grass. I took heed and saw a young couple approaching my arbor. The say under a tree where I could see them without being seen.
`You know Orion always comes up sideways.
Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains,
And rising on his hands, he looks in on me
Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something
I find it very hard to be fair-minded
About people who go around being air-minded.
I just can't see any fun
In soaring up up up into the sun
It can't take a joke,
find a star, make a bridge.
It knows nothing about weaving, mining, farming,
building ships, or baking cakes.
In the late night listening from bed
I have joined the ambulance or the patrol
screaming toward some drama, the kind of end
that Berky must have some day, if she isn't dead.
He disappeared in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
In an attempt to lighten up my poem site I offer
this doggeral style ditty about my neighbor's dog-
I used to range those farming fields,
There's many a schoolboy's bat and ball that are gathering dust at home,
For he hears a voice in the future call, and he trains for the war to come;
A serious light in his eyes is seen as he comes from the schoolhouse gate;
He keeps his kit and his rifle clean, and he sees that his back is straight.
Earth no longer
hymns the Creator,
the seven days of wonder,
the Garden is over —
Man is a tourist here,
On a pre granted holiday,
Sent for sightseeing,
Given only one chance,
On the fertile land
Of a farming mind- sprouting
Of pretty name seed!
A brooding dark and turbulent sky
That lingered nigh with Noah's storm
Tornado's lash was looming high
By broken battered home well worn
No crop is more blessed
than the one a farmer sows and tills,
working in his field from dawn to dusk,
digging and cultivating every yield
Three years consecutive droughts
Little harvests some without
Global warming wreaking havoc
Farming becoming ad hoc
The Gulf of Mexico suddenly ran into the Atlantic
left oil rigs high and dry.
I dreamed I was a farmer,
the best farmer in the world.
Do not worry, I am not boasting:
it was only in my dreams.
If moneyed man, go for business,
Just a little, farming I guess,
Service, if none at all,
Never a begging bowl!
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